


Two Guys, a Girl, and a Ticket to Hell

by deanstheman



Series: Tasha Series [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bikers, Canon Compliant, Demons, F/M, Fuglies, Slight Sam/OFC, Vampires, plot-heavy despite the handful of sex scenes :)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-23
Updated: 2013-10-22
Packaged: 2017-12-27 09:15:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 139,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/977052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deanstheman/pseuds/deanstheman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fate was cruel to Dean. All it ever gave him was Sam and then it did all it could to take him away, making Dean fight to hang on to his one good thing. Finally it gave him a girl he could love and a chance at happiness ... then it sent him to Hell.  (frequent updates)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. PART 1 - Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Summary:
> 
> A cruel twist of fate finds Dean in love just weeks before his deal is due. With his deadline looming, an unexpected turn in an already disturbing hunt suddenly raises the stakes for both brothers and they fight to save the girl from a whole new kind of evil. 
> 
> Setup:
> 
> This is set at the end of season three less than a month before Dean's deal is due. It is based on a total-smut one-shot I wrote (On the Way to Phoenix) but this is a real story with the real characters and a hunt and plot and everything, I swear. The first chapter is the one-shot this was based on though so if you’ve already read that one, you can probably skip to chapter two since I only made a few minor changes to suit the extended plot (like giving the girl a name).
> 
> BTW, this story is as much about Sam as it is Dean. It has three parts that are each set a couple of months apart but is written as and will be posted as one continuous story. Canon events - follows the show's storyline. Spoilers for seasons 1 through 4.
> 
> In general, the story is MATURE, but there are a few EXPLICIT sex scenes in chapters 1, 3, 18, and 31 so you can skip them if they’re not your thing... or go right to them if they are ;-)

** PART ONE **

Dean slapped her hand away from his belt buckle. "Babe, not right now," he chided. "I'm driving."

"So? You can multitask," she cooed, ignoring the rebuke and reaching again for the belt, this time managing to free the end from the silver buckle.

The hunter couldn't help but grin as he stole a glance at the brunette sidled up next to him with her hands now working the button on his jeans. He chuckled when she nibbled his ear but squirmed when he felt his fly being pulled open.

"Hey," he groaned in quiet protest, "Sam's right behind us."

She lifted her head to peer over the leather seat back into the back of the Impala. "He's sleeping like a baby," she whispered with a sly smile as she lowered her head into his lap, tugging at his jeans.

"No don't," Dean argued feebly before letting a moan escape him as her fingers deftly pulled him free and her tongue rimmed his tip. He could feel himself hardening quickly and was acutely aware of how inappropriate this was with Sam three feet behind them but no matter how badly he wanted to push her away, he just couldn't bring himself to do it. In fact, he found himself turned on by the dirtiness of it. She had her hand wrapped firmly around him and was kneading gently as she worked her tongue lower and lower towards the base. The girl was a goddess with her tongue and Dean knew too well what he was in for. He swallowed and sent a silent thank-you to the powers that be for somehow landing him with a chick who absolutely loved giving head.

She moved her mouth back up to the tip while sliding her fingers farther down into his pants to cup his sac. He was fully erect by this point and she wrapped her lips around him, delighting him with a soft moan as she took him in. He bit back one of his own as her wet warmth sank down on him, enveloping his full length.

Gripping the steering wheel tightly with his left hand, he reached out with his right and turned up the stereo, struggling to keep his breathing even in case Sam should wake. He then fisted his free hand in her long, brown curls, guiding her head up and down as she worked him with increasing intensity. Her tongue snaked around his tip, flicking and teasing before her mouth descended upon him again and again, taking him in fully and completely every time. Dean tipped his head back and closed his eyes in pleasure for a second before remembering he was still driving and jerking back up to focus on the dark and lonely road.

He could feel her lips tighten around him in a smile of satisfaction at the effect she was having on him as the car swerved slightly, though she never wavered in her actions. She was now on her knees on the seat, her ass in the air facing the passenger window and he reached out and gave it a hard smack. She released a smothered yelp from her full mouth and he let out a breathy chuckle. Her teeth grazed top and bottom down the full length of him in friendly retaliation and he grunted in both pleasure and pain. Her movements became faster and harder, the gentle scrape of her teeth driving him closer and closer to climax as her head rose and fell in his lap. The hand gently kneading his sac pulled out and reached back to slide down the front of her own shorts, her ass wriggling and grinding in the air as she worked herself alongside him. Ridiculously turned on at the sight, Dean cupped his hand over her ass again, squeezing it forward in sharp rhythmic motions, essentially fucking her fingers for her. He panted in anticipation and they both moaned in unison as he began to thrust up into her mouth, his stomach muscles clenching as he neared the edge.

"Oh God, baby, I'm gonna cum," he tried to warn her but he was already there. Spasms rocked through him as he let go, grunting loudly as he felt her swallow his release. She pumped and stroked with her hand, licking the over-sensitive tip clean with soft, gentle flicks of her tongue. He exhaled a long, shuddering moan of satisfaction and concentrated on keeping the car straight on the road.

She looked up at him, her lids still heavy with lust and need and he realized her fingers were still buried deep in her shorts. She leaned forward and brought her face close to his. "Pull over," she demanded in a husky voice, her breath hot in his ear.

Dean swallowed in regret and disappointment. "I can't," he apologized, still breathing heavily. "You know we gotta get to Phoenix right away. It's already after midnight and we've still got at least two hours to go."

"But I'm so wet," she pleaded. "You can't make me finish by myself."

"I'm sorry," he said, catching his breath as she pulled herself upright on her knees and arched her back, grinding forward onto her buried fingers. Her other hand traced its way up her flat stomach, pulling up her blouse and cupping one of her breasts. Her head tipped back and she let out a desperate moan.

"Jesus," Dean breathed, her theatrics having the desired effect as his fingers gripped the steering wheel so tight his knuckles turned white. He'd never come across a girl who got so turned on by giving head. He badly wanted to yank the car to the shoulder and bury his face in her wetness until he brought her screaming into her own orgasm, but they really, really couldn't afford the delay. He was just reaching for her exposed breast when he froze in shock as a voice arose from the back seat.

"Fuck, you guys are making me horny just listening to you."

Dean jerked his hand back and coughed in awkward surprise. He'd completely forgotten in the intense heat of the moment that his brother was back there. He was still sputtering in embarrassment when the brunette pulled her hand out of her shorts and leaned over the back of the bench seat.

"Good morning, Birthday Boy," she smiled down at Sam, who was still lying down, his knees bent up against the rear passenger side door.

"Hey, that's right," Dean recovered, trying to stuff himself back into his jeans. "It's after midnight. That makes it your big day, Sammy."

"Yeah, so where's my present?" Sam joked, not getting up.

"It's in the mail, dude, just like every year."

Sam laughed. "So it's my birthday and you're the only one getting anything good."

It was the girl's turn to laugh. "How do you know it's good if you've never tried it?"

"You offering?" came the challenging tease from the back seat.

Dean glanced over at the brunette, chuckling at the familiar friendly banter. Tasha had been traveling with them for almost two months now and her friendly nature had quickly relaxed the normally uptight and shy Sam. Thinking she would laugh his brother's tease off, Dean was surprised to find her looking back at him with a questioning look on her face. He raised a shocked eyebrow at her, realizing she wasn't joking but was instead asking for his permission - _permission to blow Sam!_

What he found most surprising, however, was that it didn't bother him – not really. It wasn't that he didn't care about her; she was by far the best thing that had ever happened to him, though that was a fact he had yet to admit to anyone but himself. It wasn't as if she was officially his girlfriend or anything – they had both agreed to 'keep things casual' – but he knew without a doubt it had become far more than a fling for either of them. She was 'the one'. He knew it and she knew it, even if neither of them would say it out loud. If it wasn't for the fact that he was going to die in less than four weeks, he may have even considered admitting it.

He realized that it was **_because_** she was the one and because this was **_Sam_** that her silent proposal somehow didn't feel like a betrayal. In fact, Sam would be doing him a favor because she'd probably cum by herself from the sheer enjoyment of giving two blow jobs in a row and he could keep driving without feeling so damn guilty. And it **_was_** the kid's birthday, after all.

He grinned at her and gave her a consenting nod. _What the Hell._

She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "You still owe me," she whispered in his ear before slipping over the backrest into the back seat, where she was greeted with a surprised cry from the younger Winchester.

"Whoa, what are you doing?" Sam squealed and Dean chuckled at the terrified rise in pitch of Sam's voice. "Uh, Tasha, really, whoa, what….Dean?"

"Trust me," Dean assured his brother over his shoulder. "It'll be the best birthday present I ever gave you."

"Uh, **_we_** ever gave," she interjected as she brushed Sam's hands away again to get his fly open.

"Sorry, babe," Dean called, still astonished at how okay he was with this. "That's what I meant."

"Sit up," he heard her command to Sam, who must have obeyed immediately for within seconds his little brother let out a groan of pleasure.

"Oh God," Sam rasped, "Dean, are you sure about this?"

"Dude, just shut up and enjoy it."

Sam did enjoy it. If his grunts and moans were any indication, he enjoyed it immensely. Dean adjusted the rear view mirror slightly to get a view of what was going on, feeling twitches and tingles of renewed need starting to make him hard again. He saw Sam's head tipped back over the back of the seat, his mouth open in a silent gasp. As he inched the mirror downward, he saw her long, brown curls bobbing up and down and could hear gentle, suckling noises as she deep throated his brother. She was kneeling on the floor of the Impala, one hand wrapped around Sam's cock and the other splayed across the younger hunter's chest, flicking open the buttons of his shirt without ever looking up. Sam's hands were both fisted in her hair and Dean watched, mesmerized, as his brother pulled her harder and harder down around him, his hips starting to thrust upwards into her mouth as Dean's had not five minutes earlier.

Dean was almost sure Sam was about to cum but Tasha pulled off him quite suddenly. She answered the hunter's moan of protest by beginning to slide her hand up and down his impressive length very slowly. Slow enough, however, that it brought Sam back from the brink, to which he groaned loudly in frustration.

"What I wanna know," she said very deliberately and clearly aimed at Dean, "Is howcome everyone else is getting off tonight but me?"

Dean's heart skipped a beat and his stomach lurched with what was either excitement or fear, he wasn't sure. His head was spinning with how fast this was getting out of control and how much he was turned on by it. He knew she wanted him to either pull the car over and fuck her himself or let Sam get her off. He also knew she'd only do whatever he told her to and for some reason he couldn't explain, hearing the sounds of her giving someone else pleasure was erotic, intoxicating even. He was almost dying to hear her on the receiving end.

"Why don't you let Sam take care of you, babe?" he suggested, his voice hoarse with both anticipation of the show and dread that the reaction to the suggestion wouldn't be favorable. "He can return the favor you're doing him and I can keep driving."

"What?" Sam gasped. "Dean?"

There was a pause in which all three of them contemplated the consequences of what was about to happen and if they were willing to go there. The car was silent save the throaty purr of her engine as the classic beauty sailed down the dark stretch of highway.

"I'm game of you are," she finally said to Sam, rimming her tongue around his tip and pumping her hand up and down his shaft as she spoke, virtually guaranteeing a 'yes' out of him.

Sam breathed out a grumble that came from deep within, conveying his need for release and he nodded. "Sure, I'd love to," he said rather politely as he again fisted his hands in her hair and urgently guided her mouth back around him.

She sucked him noisily and Dean knew the exact moment she brought the teeth into play for Sam cried out and slammed one hand onto the empty seat next to him, slapping it hard a few times in attempted restraint before spasms racked through him and he threw his head back, panting wildly as he came. She licked him clean slowly before pulling away.

Sam recovered for a moment with his eyes closed, breathing heavily, during which time Tasha twisted in her position on the floor of the Impala and wrapped her arms around Dean from behind, kissing his neck and gliding her hands down over his shirt-clad abs to where he was still out of his pants and semi-hard. "Mmmmm," she purred, "You liked that didn't you?"

Trying to keep his attention on the road, Dean could only nod in reply. _Godamn! He had **really** liked that._

"I was thinking of you the whole time, baby," she whispered before letting out a yelp as she was yanked backwards.

"Your turn," came Sam's throaty rumble from behind her, his strong arms pulling her back onto the seat with him. He effortlessly dropped her down on her back with her head by the rear passenger door and pulled himself up onto his knees on the seat behind Dean. He unzipped her shorts and yanked them off, pulling her hips up by the legs to get them as far down as her thighs and holding her legs in the air with one hand as he tugged them up to her ankles and off over her bare feet.  He tossed them onto the front seat next to his brother.

Any initial awkwardness or hesitation Sam may have exhibited had disappeared when he'd exploded into her mouth and she'd swallowed his cum down as she had his brother's only a short time before. He owed this girl a mind-blowing orgasm and he intended to deliver. The fact that Dean was right there didn't matter anymore; in fact, he realized, it actually added to the thrill and Sam was finding the whole kinkiness of the situation extremely erotic. It wasn't like he hadn't guiltily imagined doing all sorts of things to her since Dean first sweet-talked her into his bed almost two months ago. He just never thought he'd actually be doing any of them.

He stared down at a tiny, red, lace thong and couldn't decide whether to remove it or work with it. He went for the latter, rubbing two fingers between her legs through the fabric of the panties only to find them already hot and damp. He pushed her knees apart and planted a trail of kisses from her knee right up to just a breath away from the thong. She moaned louder and louder as he moved upwards, grinding her hips towards him as he nipped and kissed her inner thigh. He pulled back and moved to the other leg, starting once again down at the knee.

"Oh God," she cried, fisting his hair as he had done hers only moments ago, trying to coax him closer to her now-dripping center. "Please," she moaned, thrusting upwards and panting in unadulterated need. He ran his fingertip teasingly under the edge of the thong, stopping when he reached the intense, wet heat between her legs. He pulled the panties aside, suddenly regretting his decision to leave them on. One hard yank solved the problem and he ripped them free of her body, once again making sure to toss them on the front seat next to his brother.

He dipped his head down again, this time forsaking the teasing and circled his tongue just once around her pulsing nub before dipping it inside, twirling it and flicking it and enjoying her gasping squeals of pleasure as she unsuccessfully fought the urge to squirm and buck. He moved his large hands up from under her legs and pressed them into the creases between the thigh and the hip, holding her firmly in place as he continued to torture her with his tongue. His giant frame was uncomfortably hunched over in the confided space of the Impala so he sat up slowly, pulling her hips up after him, his tongue never faltering in its dance between the deep wealth of wet heat and her swollen nub. With her legs splayed over his shoulders, he pulled her hips so high they were above the seat level, within easy view of his brother's rear view mirror. Sam didn't spare even a sideways glance to check, but he knew without a doubt Dean was watching and that only spurred him on further as he fucked his brother's girlfriend mercilessly with his tongue.

The squeals soon turned to gasping screams and her back arched away from him as small spurts of sweet wetness slid past Sam's tongue. He retreated slowly, tracing delicate circles around her twitching muscles as he gently lowered her hips back down to the car seat.

He felt himself growing hard again and fought the urge to drop her down and fuck her right there, thinking that would probably be crossing a line. So far, she and Dean had initiated everything, him being the outsider who had simply been invited to a normally private party. But damn if Dean didn't have himself a hot girlfriend and it had definitely been a while since he'd been laid. Not that he was complaining; that was the best blow job he'd ever had, but he could already feel himself pressing against his zipped up jeans, begging for round two, her orgasmic screams still echoing in his mind. God, that kind of scream just made him want to pound the shit out of someone.

She sat up and gave him an appreciative smile before shuffling over, sliding past him so she was kneeling on the seat behind Dean. She wrapped her arms around the driver's neck and kissed him behind the ear. "Thanks honey," she said, still breathing heavily and not bothering to whisper. "And thanks Sam," she added over her shoulder to the large hunter behind her.

Dean was somewhat breathless and squirming in discomfort, his aching hard-on making driving considerably difficult. The sounds and smell of sex three feet behind him had been driving him wild, even more so because it had involved the two people he was closest to, the most intimate with. He was shocked he had enjoyed it so much and didn't have a clue what to think about that but he did know he didn't want it to stop.

He glanced in his rear view again and saw Sam on his knees behind the brunette, his giant frame hunched over in the confines of the car. What struck him suddenly was that Sam was **_un_** zipping his jeans, not doing them up. He watched with bated breath as his brother pulled his jeans and his boxers down to his thighs, releasing his full, hard, ready-to-go-again cock. It hovered inches behind Tasha's still-bare ass, which was extended and inviting, even if she was oblivious to the monster behind it. Sam was staring down at it with hooded eyes, his want clear.

Meanwhile, she was planting kisses around Dean's collarbone, being careful not to obscure his vision as he drove. The atmosphere in the car was heavy with sex and lust and Dean could actually _feel_ the want radiating from his younger sibling behind him. His head was spinning with the dizzying urgency of his own need and he looked up again to catch Sam's questioning, no _begging_ , eyes in the mirror. He gave his younger brother a nod, unable to speak as he granted him permission to fuck his girl.

Sam's look screamed thank-you and, oddly enough, there was no awkwardness in the exchange. Dean's eyes were fixed on the bare ass and the huge cock in the mirror and he watched breathlessly as Sam planted his hands firmly on the girl's slim hips, grinding up behind her and letting his full length slide slowly past her still-wet opening.

Dean felt her hands fist his shirt and the breathy gasp of surprise in his ear just turned him on even more. He could see Sam's hips moving back and forth slowly, teasing and enticing and asking to be let in.

"Please?" Sam addressed the girl in a husky voice, having already received the answer from Dean.

"Oh God," she panted, "Oh fuck." Her gentle nibbles on Dean's neck grew fierce and she bit down hard on his shoulder, unable to answer. "Oh God…..Dean?"

"It's okay," Dean assured her, realizing she was now asking his permission. Somehow he had ended up with all the power and he was fully enjoying the exalting feeling it was giving him. "I want you to," he breathed, his mouth dry in anticipation.

"Oh fuck, yes. Yes!" she cried, instantly bucking back at Sam, begging him to enter her.

Sam didn't need to be told twice. He was rock hard and aching and she was still dripping wet from her orgasm just a minute ago so he simply lined himself up and drove himself hilt-deep with one savage thrust. She cried out in painful pleasure and Dean felt her nails dig into his chest through his t-shirt. Sam didn't work up a rhythm slowly or let her adjust to his size; he simply pulled back out and rammed himself in again and again, wrenching her hips back onto him as he drove forward. She gasped and moaned and clung to Dean even harder, breathing a hot surge of raspy breath onto his neck every time Sam drove himself home.

Dean felt the Impala's bench seat jolt with every one of Sam's thrusts, the pace getting faster and harder and the seatback jerking more and more with each passing second. He was completely hard now and standing at full attention, his sensitive tip slapping the steering wheel every time the seatback jerked him forward. He reached down and palmed his own erection, pumping it with short, hard strokes to match the rhythm of the pair now fucking furiously behind him.

He knew from experience she was approaching another climax. "Oh Dean," she panted in his ear and he fought the urge to close his eyes as he strained to keep the wheel steady. "Dean!" He could feel her chest being slammed roughly against the back of his seat as she was pounded savagely from behind over and over and it was intensely satisfying that she was screaming his name in the pleasure Sam was giving her. "Oh fuck, yes, yes, fuck, Dean!"

Just when the hunter thought it couldn't get any more intense, it did. Sam's hands suddenly appeared, firmly grasping the top of the seat back for better leverage, one on either side of Dean's head. _Holy fuck,_ Dean thought, _his shy, awkward, reserved little brother was a total animal!_ The pounding escalated to an almost frenzied level, Tasha's cries turning into wordless screams of mercy and desperation and the seatback shook as she was completely ravaged against it. Dean had never been so turned on in his life as fingernails raked his chest and screams were panted into his ear in time with the frantic slapping sound of his brother going balls deep in his girl. Sam was grunting loudly and Dean was jerking himself off madly when he decided suddenly he needed more.

With a sharp tug he yanked the Impala's wheel to the right, careening less than gracefully onto the gravel shoulder and skidding to a halt. He didn't turn to see what was going on in the back seat but merely jumped out of the car and swung open the door on the back driver's side.

Sam had pulled out of her and fallen back with the swerving of the vehicle and was now sitting in the middle of the back seat with his jeans down at his thighs and his slick cock still standing impressively erect in his lap. She had turned around but in the awkwardness of the confined space and the careening car, was now essentially straddling the younger hunter, though she was pushed back against the front seat, her dripping heat hovering inches over his knees.

They were both looking at Dean with fear and shame as he yanked the back door open.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Sam panted.

"We thought you were okay with it," she whispered breathlessly, trying to slide off Sam's legs.

"Woah," Dean ordered sharply, holding up his palm in a gesture to stop. "Don't move," he said, more softly but still in a commanding tone. They both froze. "I **_am_** okay with it," he assured them. "What I'm **_not_** okay with is missing out on all the fun."

He got an instant grin from Tasha and a wary, questioning look from his brother as he pulled his jeans and boxers completely off, tossing them on the floor before ducking his head and climbing into the back seat with them. He slammed the car door shut behind him and gave them a lusty grin.

Although the Impala was a roomy car, it was still tight quarters for two large men and a girl to maneuver around in. Not wanting to kill the moment, Dean told her to ride Sam while he got himself in position. She obeyed without questioning and Sam, although he had a surprised look on his face, didn't argue. Dean felt the heat spreading from his cock into his stomach as he ordered them to fuck from where he was squatted half on and half off the seat next to them and watched them scramble to obey.

She pulled herself farther up on Sam, still straddling him, and lowered herself gently onto his twitching erection, tipping her head back and moaning as she did so. She started to rock back and forth and Sam seemed to instantly forget any awkwardness of having his brother half naked and totally up in his personal space for he grabbed the girl's slim hips and pulled her harder onto him. She clasped the younger hunter's broad shoulders and they began to pick up the pace but were stopped by Dean, who was clumsily trying to squeeze in between Sam's knees and the front seat.

"Slow it down," he told them. "Don't want you two finishing before I join the party."

They struggled to restrain themselves, her hips curling forward and backwards on Sam's lap so slowly his fingers dug into the flesh of her thigh with the delicious frustration of the unhurried pace. Dean somehow managed to wedge himself in behind her, on his knees on the floor and facing Sam with her body in between them, being careful to make as little contact with his brother as possible.

"Okay, that's enough," he commanded, gently pulling her back towards him by the waist, his cock twitching at the wet, sucking sound of Sam popping out of her. Sam let out a groan but made no move to pull her back and Dean reveled in the feeling of complete control he had over both of them. This was his party now.

Sam desperately wanted her back on top of him and was thinking Dean should just let him finish first and then he could have the girl to himself. He wasn't entirely sure what Dean had planned or if he was completely comfortable with his big brother actually joining in. He'd never had a threesome, even with two girls, and saw no advantage of having another guy in the mix, especially his brother. He had admittedly found it exhilarating knowing Dean was watching a few moments ago but Sam didn't want to just watch, he wanted to fuck.

He was suddenly far more accepting of watching when Dean's hands slipped around the brunette's waist from behind and glided slowly up her curvy body, sliding her blouse up with it. With catlike grace, she arched back into Dean and reached her arms back over her head to run them fondly through his short, spiky hair. Dean kissed her neck from behind and she moaned when he cupped her breasts, sliding his hands into her bra and pinching her nipples.

Sam resisted touching himself as he didn't want to cum just yet. He wanted to last until the tantalizing show was over and Dean let Tasha ride him out. He was still rock hard and felt himself twitch when Dean started unbuttoning her blouse. The elder Winchester pulled it off her shoulders and tossed it aside, moving in quickly to remove the obstructive fabric of her bra, all the while planting kisses along her shoulder and neck. Sam was moved by the intimacy of it and suddenly felt privileged to be able to witness them together in such a private moment. It was almost as if they'd forgotten he was there, watching them and breathing heavily with unattended lust.

She too was breathing heavily as Dean massaged her breasts in his rough, hunter's hands and her hips were rocking back and forth on Sam's knees with sensual rhythm, her legs spread apart enough for Sam to see how wet she still was. She was entirely naked now and her body was glistening with sweat in the steamy heat of the car.

"Lean forward, Tash," Dean finally whispered in her ear, pushing her chest forward from behind. She did as he asked, leaning over Sam, her face close to his and her hair tickling his exposed chest. She braced her hands on the back of the seat on either side of Sam's head, her breath hot on his cheek. Sam turned his head towards her, eyes hooding as he tipped his mouth towards hers but she turned away just as their lips grazed, moving out of his reach. Sam didn't have time to feel awkward about the slight as she covered by moving in closer to his ear and brushing her lower lip lightly across his lobe. Her hips were pulled upwards by Dean and Sam finally clued in on what his brother's plan was when she gasped and her whole body tensed.

That was Dean's first finger sliding inside, working her tighter hole. She let out a pained whimper in Sam's ear and her belly scraped against the tip of his neglected erection, sending an enticing spasm right up into his abdomen. Dean stilled for a moment, letting her adjust before starting to slide the finger in and out slowly. Sam could feel her body gradually relax and she started to push back onto Dean's finger, asking for more. That was when he inserted the second one.

She cried out softly, her hands moving to grip Sam's shoulders and her back arching upwards. Sam's hands involuntarily swept upwards to squeeze her breasts, pinching the nipples between his thumb and forefingers. He leaned forward and took one of them into his mouth, suckling the nipple for a moment before tugging at it gently in his teeth. She moaned and began to rock her hips slowly onto Dean's fingers while reaching down and wrapping her fingers around Sam's erection, pulling gently and eliciting a pleased hissing sound out of him.

"Just give me a minute to work her open, Sam," Dean warned with a chuckle, scissoring his buried fingers.

"I'm ready _now_ ," she pleaded, thrusting backwards. "God, I want you inside me." Her voice was laden with need and she fisted Sam's shirt again. "Both of you."

Dean laughed. "Always so impatient," he said teasingly, inserting a third finger and groaning with pleasure at her delighted squeal. A few strokes later he pulled them out and gave her ass a slap as he pushed her hips towards Sam's straining cock. "Okay, get on him," he ordered, his voice husky.

She raised herself up, positioning her opening over Sam and preparing to slide on gently but the younger hunter ran out of patience and grabbed her waist, pulling her down with one quick motion. Her thrilled gasp got another chuckle out of Dean, who was guiding his own hard cock towards her. He placed his hands on her hips just below Sam's and together they pushed her up and down on Sam a few times, Dean's strong grip setting the slow and steady pace. He finally removed one of his hands and used it to position his tip at her free opening. As he pulled her up from Sam, he pushed himself into her with a hard thrust, groaning with pained delight at her tightness.

Sam gasped when his brother entered her because he felt her clench and tighten around him as she glided up his shaft. Two pairs of hands stopped her just short of the tip and pushed her back down to take in Sam's full length as Dean pulled out. As they lifted her off Sam, they pushed her back onto Dean. They rocked her back and forth with increasing speed, fucking her onto Dean then onto Sam then back onto Dean. Sam. Dean. Sam. Dean. Sam. Dean. Sam Dean Sam Dean SamDean SamDean... They speared her faster and faster, sinking deeper and deeper with every plunge. Barely able to get a breath in, she gasped and panted, her frantic cry from one penetration being cut off by the desperate cry from the next. The brothers were relentless, passing her body back and forth like a ragdoll, pulling her harder and harder onto their cocks as their tempo increased. She was practically screaming from the double-sided assault and Dean knew she was close when she raised her arms and planted her elbows on the Impala's roof, pounding it with her fists.

Her orgasm came suddenly and she began twitching with spasms that rocked her whole body. Sam felt warm spurts of wetness caress his cock as she slid up its length and he slowed, allowing her to savor the moment.

"No," Dean panted from behind her, his teeth clenched in effort. "Fuck her through it, Sam. Fuck her through it!"

Sam obeyed without thinking, thrusting himself upwards and back inside her and he felt his brother doing the same. He let out an involuntary cry of pleasure as her juices trickled down across his balls and he pumped faster and harder, excited beyond belief at the sound of her wails and screams at the ruthless assault. His balls were smacking against her skin as he thrust his hips upwards and he could hear the wet slapping sound of Dean's doing the same from behind. They continued pounding into her harder and harder and their rhythm gradually shifted so they were both entering her at the same time. She would suck in a gasp of air as they pulled out and cry out every time they thrust back inside. Sam could feel the presence of his brother inside her every time he sank his own cock hilt deep and every twitch and spasm of her battered muscles just made him want to fuck her harder. They thrust themselves in with perfect unison, her breathless cries of "uhh! uhh! uhh!" just inciting them further as they continued the brutal onslaught. Rough hands pulled at her hungrily from both sides and she gave herself over to them freely, letting them maneuver her body however they saw fit for their pleasure.

It wasn't long after she finished her second orgasm that she fell into her third. She had no screams left in her and she fisted her hands in the fabric of Sam's open shirt as she struggled for breath and arched her back, her thighs clamping tightly on either side of the hunter beneath her as she spilled yet more juices down his still-thrusting cock.

She had barely finished cumming, small spasms still quivering down her legs, when Sam felt himself following suit and he slipped out of her, pumping himself fiercely to finish off. A loud cry of immense pleasure and intense satisfaction escaped his lips as he exploded, spurting onto his own stomach until he was completely empty and flaccid. He rolled his head on the seat back and closed his eyes, panting harshly as he recovered, only vaguely aware that she and Dean were still fucking on top of him.

Dean had pushed her back down so she was again leaning over Sam and pulled her hips farther upwards. The elder brother had shifted his own hips higher so he was directly behind her raised ass and was now pounding into her from behind, no longer needing to keep her in position for Sam also. Having had a later start, Dean was still rock hard and the intensity of both her orgasms and Sam's had turned him on unlike ever before. He let out a loud, almost primal cry as his balls slapped hard against her skin and his cock rammed repeatedly into her tight ass. Her hands were clenched in Sam's shirt collar and her head was buried in his neck and watching her cling to his little brother for dear life as he fucked her was driving Dean wild. He could feel her legs trembling and her whole body was quivering but it was her sudden pleading cry of his name that finally sent him over the edge. He pushed himself all the way inside and exploded, digging his fingernails into her bruised hips and shaking as he too cried out in release.

Her body collapsed down onto Sam's, still clasping his shoulders as she panted, shuddering and spent. Dean pressed down on top of her, still inside her pulsating heat, his own chest heaving from the exertion. He laid his head on her back and gently stroked her splayed thighs with his fingertips. Sam had his eyes closed and was acutely aware of the pressure of the two heaving bodies on top of him. They all lay there in silence for a moment, catching their breath and relishing in the complete and utter satisfaction they had achieved.

It was Dean who spoke first.

"Happy birthday, Dude," he drawled, not looking at Sam directly.

Sam laughed as much as the pressure on his chest would allow him. "Yeah, thanks for that," he answered, starting to feel awkward. "Uh, maybe I should drive," he suggested. "We still gotta get to Phoenix."

"Yeah, you're right," Dean agreed, straightening up and pulling slowly out of her. She whimpered in Sam's ear at the withdrawal and Dean clumsily tried to scoot out from his cramped position on the floor. He had removed both shirts sometime during the fucking and was now completely naked, as was she. He dropped himself on the seat next to Sam on the passenger side and pulled the limp and sated girl off Sam's chest, cradling her in his own lap.

Now free, Sam raised his hips enough to pull his jeans and boxers back up and moved to slide out of the crowded back seat. He couldn't help but smile as he noticed she had twisted around so she was facing Dean and her hand was stroking his cheek softly. He opened the door and crawled out, wincing at the cramps in his legs but not surprised at how wobbly they were. He peered back inside to see his brother slide both hands into her hair and pull her into a deep kiss. He watched them kissing passionately for a few seconds, both naked and completely oblivious to his presence. He found it very touching and was moved to see his brother so tender and open.

The distinction between making love and fucking suddenly became very clear to him and he realized he had only been invited to a fuck but that there was so much more than that to their relationship. His mind flashed on the fact that she hadn't allowed him to kiss her and a sharp jolt of pity struck him when he suddenly became acutely aware of the fact that she and Dean were in love.

In love. As much as they both played this off like it was some casual thing, they were in love. With just over three weeks to go before Dean's deal was up. How was that for ironic? The Winchester curse at its finest.

Sam watched them for a few more seconds, the cool night breeze caressing the sticky wet smear on the exposed flesh of his abdomen and giving him goosebumps. He felt a slight twitch of arousal in his pants as he watched them press against each other's naked bodies, writhing slowly as they kissed. Abashed, he zipped them up quickly and hopped into the front seat, starting up the engine and yanking the Impala back onto the road.

He listened to the pair kissing and murmuring to each other for the next twenty miles before silence fell over the car. He glanced in the rear view mirror and found them both asleep, entwined bodies sprawled buck naked on the leather seat. He chuckled to himself as he sped along, thinking his brother would never let him live it down if they happened to get pulled over by the state police at this inopportune moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turning THAT into a real, plausible SUPERNATURAL story was a challenge but the hunt starts next chap, I promise.


	2. Chapter 2

**PART ONE**

It was almost three o'clock in the morning by the time they reached Phoenix despite the time Sam managed to make up with his lead foot. He woke the sleeping pair up on the outskirts of town so they could get dressed before the traffic got close enough for someone to see them.

The Impala purred its way to a stop along the curb right outside the university's Sandridge Hall women's dormitory and the three hunters got out. Bobby had informed them they were expected so they walked up the front steps to the ten-foot-high solid oak main door. Sam commented on the intricate carvings in its face as he pulled it open and Dean snickered.

"What's wrong with appreciating the architecture, Dean?" Sam huffed, though he had honestly just made the comment to cover the awkwardness he felt being in Tasha's company after what had happened in the car three hours ago. He made a point not to look directly at her but he couldn't shake the mental image of her rocking back and forth on top of him, glistening with sweat and moaning loudly.

"Keep your panties on, Sam, I'm used to your Martha Stewart moments," Dean laughed. "It's just that it feels weird going into a girl's dorm through the front door instead of one of the windows."

"Dean!" Sam hissed reproachfully, sparing a very quick glance in Tasha's direction only to find she was laughing also.

Bobby's contact, Phyllis Kogen, was waiting for them at the security desk, much to the night guard's obvious annoyance. Phyllis was a slim woman in her mid sixties with a somewhat prim and stern appearance. She stood up sharply as they approached the desk.

"Sam and Dean Winchester?"

"Yes Mam," Dean answered. "And this is Natasha Dunn," he gestured towards Tasha. "You Phyllis?"

"I'm Ms. Kogen, yes," she corrected sternly. "I was expecting you sooner."

"Sorry," Dean shrugged unapologetically, a sly grin spreading across his handsome features. "Car trouble," he said with a wink. "It, uh…overheated."

Dean didn't miss the disapproving looks he received from both Sam and Tasha and cleared his throat sheepishly.

"Well, I hope it's not too late," Phyllis added.

"Too late for what?" Sam asked politely, still blushing slightly at his brother's awkward comment. All Bobby had told them was an acquaintance needed help with what seemed like their kind of problem. They'd just wrapped up a hunt in a town just outside of Albuquerque and were therefore the closest hunters Bobby knew of to call.

"Did Mr. Singer not tell you the particulars?"

Dean snickered at the formal title for his greasy, grizzled old friend. "Uh, ' _Mr. Singer_ ' is working a case in the Nevada desert and his cell kept cutting out so all we got was to meet a Phyllis Kogen here."

"He did mention you knew about hunters, Mam," Sam added with his usual abundance of manners.

The look on Phyllis's face relaxed and she took a deep breath before bringing the hunters up to speed. "Yes, I've run across your kind before and I do appreciate you coming. I'm a professor here at the university," she explained. "The girls here," she waved her arm in the air to indicate the entire dorm, "Are young. Impressionable. I stay in Sandridge Hall in a room of my own to keep my eye on them."

Tasha leaned in to Dean. "I'll bet they just love that!" she whispered. Dean nodded his agreement, trying to hide his smile.

Phyllis continued, oblivious. "I had a daughter once and I know I would have appreciated someone looking out for her had she chosen to go to college rather than join the army." It was obvious to all that the professor hadn't approved of the army decision and none of the hunters questioned her on her use of the past tense in reference to her daughter. "I've become sort of an unofficial dorm mother for these girls."

She ushered them away from the security desk and out of earshot of the guard before continuing. "Several of the girls have had rather disturbing dreams of late," she said in a hushed voice.

"Bad dreams?" Dean didn't hide his skepticism. Bad dreams weren't a reason to call in the cavalry. "We're not Dr. Freud."

" _Really_   bad dreams," Phyllis said slowly before pausing.

"Nightmares?" Tasha urged.

"The same nightmare," the professor finally elaborated. "They all dreamt that they were…attacked…by a man…you know…"

"Are you saying these girls dreamt about being raped, Ms. Kogen?" Sam asked softly, his voice full of compassion.

She nodded.

"All of them had the same dream?"

She nodded again. "Well, no. Not exactly. They all described different, really vivid nightmares up to that point but their dreams all ended the same way."

There was an uncomfortable pause before Dean spoke up. "Anything else?" he fished, thinking she hadn't exactly given them a lot to go on.

"Yes. I never would have even found out about it because most of the girls just thought it was a natural nightmare and never said anything about it."

"What makes you think it wasn't?" Sam asked, not liking the feel of this hunt already. This was a whole new level of evil as far as he was concerned. It could conceivably be a coincidence but Winchesters didn't believe in coincidences. Bad dreams were also a sore spot for him.

"Yeah, isn't it possible that a news story or a movie they all watched triggered their subconscious and them dreaming a similar dream is just a coincidence?" Tasha suggested without any real conviction in her voice. She was a hunter too and Sam knew she didn't believe in coincidences any more than he or Dean did.

Phyllis shook her head. "Ashley Wilcott is why I know it's real," she told them. "She started screaming one day in the cafeteria and when her friends brought her into the den and calmed her down, she said she had seen a man looking in the window - the same man that she had dreamt about a couple of times. She was so sure. And she started describing the dream and the man and one of her friends admitted she'd had the exact same dream a week earlier. Word travels fast around here, you know how girl's talk," she looked to Tasha who simply gave her an uncomfortable, tight-lipped smile in return.

"Who was the guy?" Dean asked.

"I don't know. Nobody else saw him at the window. But that night six girls came to my room saying they'd all had the same experience at least once over the past three weeks. And they all described the same man."

The three hunters were silent for a moment, soaking up the intel Phyllis had given them. "There's something else you should know," she offered. "This hall has a history."

Both Winchesters arched a brow at the elderly lady. "History?" they asked in unison.

"Yes. This part here was built in the 1950's but the south wing is much older. Back at the turn of the twentieth century, it was a bunkhouse for workers for a large citrus farm. One worker supposedly went crazy and butchered three other workers before killing himself."

"He a rapist?" Dean asked.

Phyllis shrugged. "Not that I know of. I don't know much else about it. History's not my really my forte." She looked pleadingly at the elder brother. "I hope you can figure out what's doing this," she said, placing her hand on his arm. "I know it's just dreams but this kind of thing can be quite terrifying for a young woman. No girl should have to go through an experience like that, dream or otherwise."

"Well, I agree with you there," Dean said vehemently. "Don't worry, we'll stop this bastard one way or another."

"You think it's some kind of ghost?" the professor queried.

"Freddy Kreuger the crop worker?" Sam asked. "It's a possibility…"

The brothers exchanged a look that communicated as much as a full conversation could have between people who didn't know each other inside out. The angry spirit thing was feasible but there was another possibility.

"Can we talk to Ashley?" Tasha asked.

The professor's forehead creased in concern but she agreed. "I don't see why not. She'll be awake. She hasn't slept at all since she saw him three days ago. I did tell her I was bringing in some people to help."

She walked back to the security desk and grabbed something from behind the counter. It turned out to be two security guard shirts and she handed one to each of the Winchesters.

"I can't have two strange men walking about in the halls in the middle of the night," she explained. "You'd scare the girls. Especially these days; everybody's a bit on edge."

The brothers nodded in understanding and changed into the shirts right there in the lobby, Phyllis's hard stare silencing the complaint the guard was obviously about to make. Sam coughed uncomfortably when he caught Tasha staring at both of them with a cheeky grin on her face and rushed to get the too-tight uniform shirt buttoned up.

Dean noticed his brother's discomfort and couldn't help but laugh. Kid was such a prude.

Phyllis led them up two flights of stairs and down a long hallway before knocking quietly on door 315. A young blonde girl of about twenty answered, opening the door just a crack and studying the three hunters behind the professor. The girl and her 'dorm mother' spoke to each other in hushed voices for a moment before the door was opened and Phyllis gestured for them all to go inside.

Ashley was definitely pretty. Or she would be if not for the bags under her eyes and the worn-out, haggard expression on her face. They all crowded into the tiny room and she practically backed herself up against the far wall, avoiding direct eye contact with all of them. She stood with her arms wrapped around herself, as if she was cold but it was at least eighty degrees in the cramped dorm room.

"Hey Ashley, I'm Sam and this is my brother Dean and that's Tasha." Sam spoke in a gentle voice as he made the introductions. Ashley nodded but in truth looked like a cornered rabbit about to bolt. "Can we ask you some questions about your dreams recently?"

The blonde gave him another quick nod but none of them missed the nervous glance she threw Phyllis, looking for reassurance. She sure was jumpy. Dean noticed the bottle of ProPlus caffeine pills on the bedside table. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to be that scared to go to sleep, that terrified of the nightmare you knew was waiting for you.

"You've had more than one of these dreams?" Sam continued, unable to help feeling like a bully picking on a scared little kid.

"Y-yes," Ashley stammered.

"Uh, guys?" Tasha looked at the brothers. "Why don't you two check for EMF or something and I'll talk to Ashley?"

"Good idea," Dean let out a breath of relief and was already reaching for the door handle behind him. Sam was quick to follow suit and the brothers left the room, shutting the door behind them.

"This is a bitch of a hunt already," Dean spat quietly as they walked back down the hallway.

Sam was digging through the knapsack he was carrying for the homemade EMF reader they had packed as part of the standard 'don't-know-what-the-hunt's-about-yet' kit. "Tell me about it. Most spirits just kill. This is strange."

"Sick fuck's going down, I can tell you that," Dean said vehemently.

"You know, it could be a dude on dreamroot," Sam pointed out a possibility that both brothers had thought of earlier. "If it is, then it's a human."

"Oh don't start your ' _we can't kill humans_ ' crap, Sam. In this case, we make an exception."

"Hey, I totally agree with you," Sam shrugged. "It's not like we can get him arrested and there'd be no way to stop him doing it again."

Dean threw his brother a wary glance. Despite feeling they were completely justified, part of him wanted Sam to argue the possible killing of a human being. A couple of years ago, he would have. He would have at least tried to figure out another way. Not so anymore.

They decided to start on the top floor, the fifth, and work their way down. The EMF reader squeaked and buzzed very quietly, showing no signs of a supernatural presence. They scanned the entire fifth floor in silence but as they began their tour of the fourth, Sam decided to take advantage of the fact that they were alone.

"So, Dean, about earlier, in the car…"

"Oh, dude, we are so not talking about that."

"Why not? We should at least…"

"Sam." Dean lowered the instrument and looked at his brother. "That's just one of those things that happens but then it never happened, get it?"

Sam huffed, one of his most Sammiest expressions and Dean was struck with the notion that despite the fact that it usually signified the kid was annoyed with his big brother, it was the one he was going to miss the most after he was gone.

"Sooo…we're okay?" the younger Winchester said slowly.

"We're fine coz it never happened. You're not listening." Dean resumed his EMF scan, walking slowly down the long hallway.

Sam followed. "You don't think it's maybe gonna cause a problem between you and her?"

Dean scoffed. "Dude, she started it," he said without looking up. "Besides, it's not like we're a long term thing." _He wasn't long term anything_. His deal was up in just over three weeks and so far, they had squat on saving him. Not even the name of the demon that held his contract.

A touch of anger entered Sam's response. "Yeah, but she doesn't exactly know that, does she?"

A groan escaped the elder Winchester. "Oh, please don't start that again. You're like a broken record these days."

"Dean, you have to tell her."

"Is that you giving up then Sammy? I thought we were gonna find a way to save me."

"I am," snapped Sam, as frustrated at his brother's attempt to change the subject as his insistence that what was going on between him and Tasha was still purely casual. "But…you know…just in case I don't…" he trailed off.

"Well if we don't, then I'll have bigger problems than Tasha being pissed at me, won't I?" Dean knew he was being a thoughtless prick but he was struggling every day to deal with what was coming his way and just couldn't handle another emo conversation with his brother about it. With just over three weeks left on the clock, it was getting harder and harder to hide his heart-stopping fear and dread of what was in store for him. He picked up his pace, moving a few steps away from the taller Winchester and effectively ending the conversation.

**~X~X~X~**


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit more naughtiness (meaning graphic sex) in the back half of this chapter then the plot takes over (meaning Dean keeps it in his pants) for the next few chapters or so.

 

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The brothers finished the scan of the upper floors with no significant readings registering and they walked down the back stairwell to the main floor. Dean had kept up a fast pace as they scoured the hallways, his way of avoiding any more chick flick conversations with Sam. One more floor to go. The instrument's needle jerked and wavered a bit in the Hall's main kitchen, located on the south side of the building.

"South wing," Dean thought out loud. "Where the boarding house used to be."

"So the professor's killer crop worker theory may hold some merit after all," Sam nodded.

They finished the walk-through to find the kitchen was the only hot-zone. Well, more like a warm zone but at least it was something. Tasha and Phyllis came down and met them in the main lobby a few minutes later and the hunters promised they would do all they could to protect the professor's girls, as the older woman fondly referred to them, before exchanging farewells and leaving.

Back in the car, Tasha divulged what she had found out from Ashley, which wasn't much that they didn't already know. She did, however, get a more detailed description of the man and had drawn up a rough sketch. "He's a white guy with dark hair, kinda unkempt like Sam's…"

"My hair's not unkempt," Sam defended instinctively.

"Whatever, Shaggy," Dean shushed him, waving at Tasha in the back seat to continue.

"Okay, his hair was styled in a somewhat lengthier but still trendy and attractive fashion," she corrected with a chuckle. Dean noticed Sam didn't turn around to look her in the eye and didn't offer a rebuttal to the tease like he normally would have. She let her smile drop and sighed before finishing the description. "He had dark brown eyes and a big, ugly nose. He was probably in his late twenties with an athletic build. Maybe five-ten, five-eleven."

"That describes half of campus," Dean groaned.

Tasha ignored his griping. "Ashley also went to the cops but they did sweet FA. Said there's no evidence an actual crime has been committed."

"Well, in their defense," Sam said grudgingly, "If you don't know what we know, it does look like this is all in their heads."

"In **_six_** girls' heads?" Tasha retorted heatedly.

"Okay, so far we've got two possibilities," Dean interceded quickly, changing the subject.

"Two?" Tasha raised an eyebrow, leaning forward and putting her elbows on the seat back between the brothers. "Aren't we thinking angry spirit of the crop worker?"

"There's this stuff called African dreamroot," Dean explained. "Silent Cannabis or something."

"Silene Capensis," Sam corrected absently.

"Whatever. We came across someone using this stuff almost four months ago in Pittsburg. See, if you drink it in a gross-tasting tea, it lets you to pop in and control someone else's dream. Some perv gets his hands on a batch of that stuff and a dorm full of hot college chicks is gonna look like a fully-stocked fishing pond."

"Dean, rape is about control, not sex," Sam argued. "I still think the angry spirit's more likely."

"He's controlling the dream, isn't he?" Dean pointed out. "Jeremy Frost was all about control, remember? He thought he was God in there."

Sam nodded in reluctant admittance. Jeremy Frost, the man who'd almost killed Bobby with African dreamroot, had nurtured a serious God complex. Sam remembered what it had been like to take that control away from him, influencing Dean's dream with his own mind to bring Jeremy's abusive father in to distract him while the hunter took him out.

"Well if it is a human," he said finally, "How are we gonna find him? All we have to go on is a pretty vague description."

"We know he hangs around the dorm," Dean supplied. "He has to have been getting the DNA from the girls somehow."

"DNA?" came the query from the back seat.

"Yeah, he needs to drink the DNA of the particular person whose dream he plans on entering," Sam explained.

"So what, do we stakeout the dorm?" she asked.

"He may have moved on," Sam told her. "He probably saw Ashley freaking out in the cafeteria."

"It's four AM guys," Dean said as he stifled a yawn. "Why don't we call it a night and start canvassing tomorrow morning. I'm freaking tired."

"What if he comes tonight?" Tasha objected sharply. "We should go back and keep our eye on the place. I promised Ashley we wouldn't let him get her again. Besides, there's a hundred other defenseless girls in there."

Dean winced. "Not much we can do," he admitted reluctantly. "If he's gonna strike tonight, it means he's already got the DNA and he can dreamwalk from anywhere in town. He won't be going back there tonight so there's nothing we can do until morning anyway."

"And if it's an angry spirit," Sam added, unwilling to dismiss that option, "Then we need to figure out who he was, where he's buried, and salt and burn the bones. We don't have time to do that before sunup and digging a grave up in a big city in the daytime is asking for trouble. We may as well get some shut-eye and we'll track down his grave tomorrow and dust him as soon as it's dark."

Tasha relented with a displeased huff, sitting back in the rear seat with her arms folded across her chest. Dean found the closest motel and let Sam go in to check-in. After a moment of silence alone in the car he turned to face her. "You alright Tash?" he asked gently.

"I'm fine," she smiled back at him.

Her smile seemed genuine enough but Dean had grown to recognize the tiny signs that something was bothering her, even though he'd only known her for two months. The way her foot was twitching. The way her lips were pulled slightly to the right. He couldn't figure her out as well as he could Sam, but he was getting unnervingly good at it.

"You sure?" he pressed, surprising himself at his uncharacteristic willingness to get into an emo conversation. It was just so easy with her. "Coz I can see how this would be a hard case for you because of…you know…foster dad number six."

Her shoulders relaxed and her foot stopped twitching. "I'll be fine," she said, giving him a much more convincing smile this time. "Let's just salt and burn this asshole."

"If it's dreamroot, then it's a human," he pointed out.

"So? I say we salt and burn the motherfucker anyway," she grinned viciously.

Dean laughed. "You know, you keep talking like that and I might just have to marry you one day," he teased, the words out of his mouth before he could stop them. _What in the Hell did he say that for?_ He struggled to keep the astonishment and regret from his face as both coursed through him, suddenly dreading her reply.

She made it easy for him. "That's presumptuous of you," she joked. "Says who I'd say yes?"

Sam chose that fortuitous moment to return to the car, handing a key over the seat to the girl as he climbed back in. "Rooms eleven and twelve," he said simply, pointing down the line of paint-peeled doors.

Dean pulled the Impala up in front of room 12, getting out and handing Tasha her duffel from the trunk as he grabbed his own and moved out of the way for Sam to grab his. "You want me to come tuck you in?" he grinned lewdly down at the brunette.

She rolled her eyes. "You just said you were tired. Get some sleep." She turned and unlocked the door to room 11, next door, and disappeared quickly inside.

Dean followed Sam into their room, throwing himself down on the bed closest to the door without bothering to take off his boots. Sam moved about between the room and the bathroom in his usual routine, cleaning his teeth and digging out his laptop. He had just settled down on one of the plastic chairs and connected to the agonizingly slow internet connection when Dean got back up, jumping off the bed and grabbing his coat.

"I'm gonna check on Tash," the elder Winchester announced as he headed for the door. Sam rolled his eyes, figuring that was Dean-speak for ' _I'm going to get laid'_ and gave his brother a half-hearted wave as he left.

Dean knocked on the next door over, giving Tasha a sheepish look when she answered with an eyebrow raised in surprise. She was wearing just cotton sleep pants and a tight little t-shirt and had a toothbrush sticking out of her mouth.

"Wasn't earlier tonight in the car enough for you?" she said accusingly, placing her hands on her hips in mock offense. "I thought you were tired."

Dean stepped over the threshold, forcing her to take a step back as he moved his body abruptly into her personal space. He grinned down at her and couldn't help but notice the way her nipples were practically poking through the fabric of her tee. He placed his hands on her waist, kicking the door shut behind him with his boot. He had honestly just planned on making sure she was settled in and okay but as usual, the sight of her sent the testosterone coursing through his veins and the parts of him he thought were tired were now wide awake. "Sleep can wait," he said huskily, pulling the toothbrush out of her mouth with his teeth and dropping it on the floor.

He leaned in to kiss her, giving her a second to swallow all the free toothpaste in her mouth before he ran his tongue along her lower lip, asking to be let in. As usual, she didn't refuse him, sliding her own hands around his neck as she kissed him back. He walked her backwards towards the bed, his mouth never leaving hers. His hands roamed up the curve of her waist and back down to her hips, where they tightened and pulled her closer to him as they walked.

She gasped and let out a little yelp at the move. It wasn't a sound of pleasure, however, a fact Dean picked up on instantly and he stopped dead, pulling back and looking down at her in sharp curiosity. "You okay, babe?" he asked seriously.

She winced. "I'm just a little sore, that's all," she admitted, reaching her lips back towards his.

Dean held her at arms length. "From our little escapade in the car?" he asked guiltily.

She nodded and shrugged at the same time.

He moved his hands gently to the waistline of her pants, sliding them down over her hips. He glanced over her shoulders to see a full length mirror on the motel room wall behind them and watched the reflection of his own hands sliding down her thighs. He forced his attention back to her hips and his breath caught when he noticed the bruises. She let the pants fall to the floor and he lifted her t-shirt up over her head to get a better look.

"Oh, Tash, I'm sorry," he breathed, his voice heavy with guilt as he stepped back and studied her near naked form. They'd had some hard, needy sex before and it wasn't as if she'd never ended up with a bruise or two, but her hips now showed a whole different level of rough sex. There was a long series of bruises on each side, lined up to match both his and Sam's fingerprints. "I didn't realize…"

"Hey," she interrupted his apology. "I'm not complaining. Trust me, it was worth it." She pressed her lips against his again and he reacted hesitantly, trying to push his way past his guilt enough to return the kiss. He glanced past her into the mirror again and the sight that greeted him gave him the nudge he needed.

She was naked save for a pair of lavender, lacy boys-cut panties, her loose, chestnut waves spilling halfway down her back as she tipped her head back to reach his lips. He groaned and returned the kiss with a bit more vigor, although he made a conscious effort to be gentle this time round.

He spun her around to face the mirror, laying a trail of kisses along her neck from behind. She squirmed uncomfortably at the exposing view in front of them but he held her gently in place with an arm wrapped around her shoulder. He nibbled her earlobe before reaching down to slide the panties off, running his hands all the way down her legs and back up as he did so. He moved his mouth back to her neck and grinned at the reflection of them both. "God, you're beautiful," he whispered in her ear.

"Dean, you're making me feel self-conscious," she breathed in response, her voice faltering nervously.

He grinded his hips against her bare ass. "And you're making me hard," he replied.

"Classy," she laughed, and he felt her relax in his hold.

He wrapped his arms farther around her, sliding his palms up to massage her breasts tenderly before letting one of them make its way downwards, gliding across her stomach, hips, and inner thighs before sliding in between her legs.

"I promise I'll be gentle," he whispered throatily in response to her gasp.

"Oh ... Dean," she moaned, tipping her head back into his chest as his finger circled slowly around her nub, refraining from sliding inside her quickly-wetting heat. Dean stared at her body writhing slightly against him in the mirror in a slow, sensual dance and actually gasped at how ridiculously sexy it was. He even spared a glance at his own reflection from where he stood behind her. The fact that he was fully clothed made her naked form seem even smaller, more delicate, softer ... sexier. He bent his knees slightly and reached farther around as he swirled his finger in increasingly deeper circles, grinding gently against her from behind while his other hand traced delicate lines up and down her bruised waist and hip.

She made a delicious soft, moaning sound that had him straining against the zipper of his jeans, aching to be released. He ignored it as best as he could, concentrating instead on her intoxicating scent as he bent down to kiss her neck. He slipped the first finger just partway inside, determined to make this as slow and gentle as he could. She reached both her hands around and clasped his denim-clad thighs tightly, her right knee lifting and swinging outwards as she pushed her leg up on its tippy-toe in an effort to allow him better access. Her hips began to curl forward in a rhythmic motion, begging him to go deeper. He complied and nudged his own knee under hers to lift her leg higher still, sliding his first finger all the way in as his thumb took over stroking the nub.

God how he loved the sounds she made when he pleasured her. From the gaspy pants to the full out screams to the achingly desperate moans like she was making now; they all made him tighten and tingle in all the right places. Tonight was no exception and he found himself fighting the urge to just throw her on the bed and plunge himself inside her. After two months of basically fucking like rabbits, somehow she still turned him on every bit as much now as she had on that very first night when he had lost all self-control from a simple kiss and had thrown her down on the hood of the Impala, ramming himself into her over and over through two of her screaming orgasms until he finally came. They had then taken it to the back seat and the rest of the night had been spent panting and thrusting and cumming in positions Dean had never thought possible and some he'd never even imagined.

He grinded his stiffness against her with increasing urgency but otherwise, concentrated on keeping the pace relaxed and easy. He was going to make this all about intimacy and softness and pleasuring her without the pain he and Sam had apparently thrown into the wild ride on the side of the road. He had two fingers in her now and was sliding them in and out as slowly as his waning self-control would allow.

She twisted around to face him, wrapping her slender hand around his muscular forearm to encourage him to go faster and deeper. Her head was tipped back away from him and her eyes were hooded, her mouth hanging partly open as she hooked her lifted leg around his thigh, squeezing in an attempt to bring him closer to her.

"There's that damn impatience again," he chuckled, his voice low and breathy. Her hands wove around his neck and with her face suddenly so close, he couldn't help but press his mouth on hers. He pulled his fingers out of her heat and smothered her protest with his tongue as it snaked into her mouth, flicking and caressing as it went. He clasped a hand under each of her thighs, hoisted her up onto his hips, and walked the few steps towards the mirror, pressing her bare back up against the cold surface before lowering her legs back down.

She gave him a questioning look as he pulled away and he simply smiled in reply. He leaned forward and nibbled on her earlobe before planting a trail of kisses down her neck. His hands were already on her breasts, kneading and squeezing as she arched her back away from the mirror and let another moan escape, this one louder and more hungry than the last. He glided his mouth downwards and his hand tugged her breast gently towards him, thumb and forefinger twisting the already hard nipple as his lips closed around it. She gasped in pleasure and Dean felt her hand reach out to caress his almost painful erection through his jeans.

He backed his hips away from her, wrapping his fingers around her wrists and pressing her hands against the mirror at her sides. "Uh- unh, baby," he whispered, "This is all about you tonight."

She snorted in apparent disbelief but didn't struggle against his restraint when he worked his mouth lower, making a trail of wet, sucking kisses down across her belly. She squirmed against the mirror as he sank to his knees in front of her and her leg fell sideways again with a loud moan when his tongue reached her navel. He smiled to himself and teasingly changed direction, instead working his magic across her pelvic bone and down her right hip, making sure to plant a soft kiss on every bruise the Winchesters had left there. He continued the torture by doing the same on the left side before finally moving slowly inward until he reached her inner thigh.

Still holding her hands in place, he could no longer ignore the incredible moist heat he was feeling on his cheek as he reached the apex of her thigh and finally allowed his tongue to run hungry circles around her already swollen nub. She let out a whimpering cry of pleasure and he dipped inside, flicking and nipping with his tongue and his teeth. He pushed in farther and harder, fucking her with shallow thrusts and the memory of watching Sam do the very same thing to her a few hours earlier flashed through Dean's mind. Strangely, instead of creeping him out, it only egged him on and he increased the pressure every time he pulled out to work the nub before plunging back in again.

Her leg was suddenly up over his shoulder, her strong calf muscles drawing his head in towards her heat. She started to cry out, her head tipped upwards and her restrained hands clenching into fists of need at her sides. He could feel her orgasm mounting inside of her and wasn't in the least surprise when it broke free, her hips jerking around his face as she shuddered and panted her way through it.

She came down slowly amid tender kisses on her belly, breathing heavily as she looked down at him. "You're turn, I suppose?" she said with a satisfied smile.

Dean grinned. "I'm feeling generous," he replied with a wink. "I'm gonna hold off until you've had say…three."

She laughed as he released her hands and pulled himself to his full height in front of her. "Really?" she scorned in feigned disbelief although her eyes danced in anticipation. "So what do you have in mind for number two?"

Dean leaned his whole body against her, kissing her hard on the mouth and pressing her into the cold mirror behind her. "You'll see," he rasped, hooking his hands under her thighs again. She wrapped her legs around him as he lifted her onto his hips and this time he walked towards the bed, sitting her gently down on the very edge of it. He pushed her knees apart and went right to work, sliding a finger all the way inside.

She closed her eyes and bit her lip, her hips instinctively rocking towards him. On his knees again, his free hand wrapped around to the small of her back, pressing her body forward onto his fingers. He quickly added a second one, thrusting them in and out at an ever increasing pace. She had her knees as far apart as they could go in the sitting position on the edge of the mattress and she leaned backwards over his forearm, her chest arching upwards. She planted her hands on the bed behind her and Dean ducked down to take a nipple in his mouth as he slid a third finger inside her.

She started panting almost immediately and he picked up the pace even farther, muscled forearm pulsating back and forth as his fingers plunged in faster and harder with each stroke. Without slowing down, he crooked his thumb and pressed it to her clit, giving it a mere two circular strokes before her toes were curling and her thighs were clenching and she was cumming again. Momentarily forgetting about his attempt to be gentle, he kept his fingers pumping through her orgasm, escalating her twitching to full-on spasms and screams as she fisted the sheets behind her.

"Oh fuck! Dean!" she cried as she found her release. "Dean!" God he loved that she always cried his name during sex. In the past, too many girls he'd been with had either been given fake names or couldn't remember his name in the short time he had known them. He'd always enjoyed a noisy lay and she certainly didn't hold back.

He watched her come down from her orgasm, studying the way her chest heaved in his arms and her thighs subconsciously squeezed against his. Her breathless pants gave way to deeper, gentler moans and she always licked her lips and let out a deep exhale as she finished. Her brown eyes were closed but he knew they would be searching out his green ones the instant they opened. It was a sight he had grown to cherish and one he wanted to remember for a long time. He had some small hope that maybe it would help him bear the endless suffering and torture he would soon be enduring in Hell. Maybe.

"Well that was almost too easy," he snorted, slipping his arm out from behind her waist.

"I **_wanted_** to make it easy on you," she rebutted with a slight pout, grabbing his shirt collar and tugging his lips towards hers. "Besides, I can't help the way you turn me on, baby. Just _looking_ at you makes me wet."

"Oh, girl, that's cheating," he murmured as he drove his tongue into her mouth. "You know…what dirty talk…does to me. You've still got…one more to go."

"Well I promise not to talk dirty if you take these clothes off," she bargained, tugging his shirt off over his shoulder.

"Deal," he agreed, practically ripping his shirt as he tugged it off his arms. He immediately reached behind his neck and yanked his t-shirt up over his head also, tossing it somewhere behind him. He stood up to unzip his jeans and she pulled herself farther onto the bed, leaning back and letting her knees fall apart as she licked her lips at him.

"That's still cheating," he accused, his cock hardening to painful proportions at the delicious sight before him. He disposed of his jeans and boxer-briefs in record time and it was all he could do not to throw his torso between those knees and thrust himself deep inside her. He knew he wouldn't last thirty seconds if he did that and he had promised her three before he finished. An offer he was seriously regretting right now.

He forced himself to stand where he was for a moment, trying to think past the inviting wetness before him that was practically screaming his name. He took a deep breath and finally got on the bed. He lowered his body down between her bent knees and leaned forward to kiss her but, with great effort, kept his hips raised and out of reach. The moment she wrapped one leg around him to pull him downward he flipped over, rolling onto his back and pulling her on top of him.

She squealed in surprise but didn't complain once she found herself straddling him. He saw the victorious smile creep onto her face and began to doubt his tactics. She wasn't going to make this easy.

The devilish smirk still on her face, she began to grind her hips back and forth on top of him. She pressed his upright cock down flat against his stomach and maneuvered her sticky wet opening to slide it up and down along the full length of the shaft. He shuddered in anticipation but resisted grabbing her bruised hips to maneuver her onto him properly; instead waiting the three full seconds before her impatience got the better of her and she did it herself.

She lowered herself onto him slowly, inhaling deeply as she sank down on him. Dean let out a deep moan of pleasure, relaxing into the soft bed beneath him and allowing her to do all the work. She started to rock back and forth, taking him deeper and deeper with every forward grind. She gradually picked up the pace and her moans grew louder and her breath heavier. Dean struggled with himself between closing his eyes to savor the sensations and keeping them open to take in the sexy-as-hell sight of her swaying and pulsating back and forth on top of him.

Still trying to refrain from grabbing her bruised hips, he reached up instead to fondle her breasts. She reacted by arching backwards, her hands swinging behind her to rest on his thighs as she pushed herself harder and faster onto his cock. He let another moan escape and realized he wasn't going to last much longer, probably not longer than she was. He had basically bragged about giving her three orgasms and Dean hated to look the fool. Knowing exactly what would hurry her along, he brought his hands to her waist, trying to keep them above the long lines of colorful bruises, and lifted her up. He pushed her up over him and held her in place as he began bucking his hips upwards, plunging himself into her with quick, sharp thrusts.

Her moans immediately turned to lusty cries of pleasure and her hands clasped down over his in the curve of her waist. He could feel her thighs clenching around him and could hear his balls slapping against her skin every time he rammed himself upwards. Less than a minute later she was panting and gasping as her juices spilled down his cock and trickled down between his legs. He followed closely behind her, pulling her down to engulf his full length as he came deep inside her with a shuddering moan.

She lowered her torso down over his, pressing her lips against his and breathing into his mouth as their breath slowed in unison. She eventually rolled off to the side and lay on her back next to him. He turned towards her and propped his head up on his elbow.

"You're beautiful, you know that?" he said again, tracing his fingers lightly over her naked form.

"And you're getting better at the pillow talk," she teased in return. "Remember that first week it was ' _thanks, babe, we should do that again sometime'_ ," she said, mimicking his deep drawl.

"What can I say, I'm a fast learner," Dean laughed, unoffended. "Besides," he added, "You didn't mind. You had the hots for me from the very first day we met."

"Actually, I thought you were a jerk the first time we met."

"Well, you changed your mind pretty quick because if I remember correctly, I had you twisted up like a pretzel in my back seat that very night," he grinned at her.

She rolled her eyes. "Always the gentleman," she snorted. "And no, I still thought you were a jerk but you were a good looking jerk so I decided to overlook that minor detail." She snuggled in closer to him. "If I'd wanted polite and mannered, I would have gone for Sam."

"I'm not even gonna touch that one," Dean laughed, his fingers still ghosting over her skin.

She gave him a serious look. "Your brother won't even look at me," she said, sounding genuinely upset. "He must think I'm such a slut."

Dean waved his hand in dismissal, wondering why it was so easy to talk to her about the very same subject he had practically chewed Sam's head off for daring to mention.

"He's just feeling awkward about it," he told her. "You know how he is, all shy and uptight."

"Well, he wasn't either of those things at the time," she pointed out, her chest heaving in a short burst of silent laughter.

"No," Dean agreed. "Kid surprised the heck outta me, I gotta admit."

She chuckled. "I think we all surprised ourselves with that whole thing," she said. "I don't really know how it happened; it just sorta … did."

Dean leaned down and kissed her lips. "Hey, no regrets babe."

She smiled as he pulled away. "Nah. But as for Sam, we need to find him a girlfriend," she said with a look of genuine concern. "All that pent up energy he's got and that pretty decent ... uh … package," she tilted her head up towards the hunter lying next to her and gave him a sheepish look. "That's just a waste."

"Should I be getting jealous?" Dean raised an eyebrow in jest. It surprised him a little, but he found he wasn't jealous at all. He didn't feel threatened or worried that it would ever happen again. He had no formal claim over this girl yet he trusted her completely. As for Sam, well, he trusted Sam with every fiber of his being. Sure they had their many, many… ** _many_** differences, but Sam would always have his back and sure as heck would never slide in on his girl.

"Of course not," she answered his tease with a playful slap against his chest.

He gazed down at her, a soft smile of contentment playing with the ends of his lips. Of all the moments he spent with her, these were his favorite. As much as he loved the physical moments spent in the proverbial throes of passion, and he had to admit there were an awful lot of them, he preferred this. Private, relaxed, easy conversations. He surprised himself with the things he had told her in moments such as these, intimate thoughts and feelings. His mixed feelings about his dad. How much he missed his mom despite what little he remembered of her. His insecurities about not looking after Sam as well as he should have. She never made him feel judged for feeling these things or pathetic for sharing them. And he knew for a fact she had shared things with him she had never told anybody else. They just seemed to instinctively **_get_** each other.

He leaned in and kissed her but ended up swallowing her yawn instead. "Tired?" he asked, though it was more of an observation than a question.

She just nodded and lay her head in the crook of his arm, reaching behind her to pull the end of the sleeping bag she had on the bed over them. Dean kissed her forehead and slid his arm gently out from underneath her, moving to push himself up off the bed.

"Dean, can't you stay just one night?" she said pleadingly, propping herself up on her elbows as he withdrew.

Dean winced at the unwanted question. He'd known it would come eventually. They had been doing this dance for almost two months now and she had strangely been very accepting of his nightly retreat back to his room with Sam. With a couple of exceptions at the very beginning, the only entire nights that he had spent with her were those few when they had only been able to get a single motel room, and those had been spent fully clothed and very well behaved because Sam had been in the other bed.

"The night's practically over anyway," she continued. "And your brother's a big boy. I'm pretty sure he'll be alright 'til morning."

Dean sighed, grabbing his underwear from the floor and hastily putting them on. "It's not that, Tash," he groaned. "It's just…" He let the sentence trail off. How could he explain that he only had twenty-some days to live and he felt like he needed to get all the time in with his brother as he possibly could? The little routine they had in the mornings where they wordlessly moved around each other like a well-oiled machine getting ready for their day was inexplicably one of his favorite times spent with Sam and he had so very few of them left. He would love to curl up next to Tasha and breathe in her scent and feel her softness against him as he slept, but damnit he had so few mornings left and Sam had to come first. His brother had been everything to him from the day the kid was born and very soon he would be seeing him for the last time. He had to cherish those small moments.

_How could he explain that to her? He barely understood it himself._

She saved him the trouble, a look of defeat coming over her face as he continued getting dressed.

"Okay, look, I get it," she sighed. "We both insisted from the start that this was just a temporary thing with no strings attached." Her jaw set in a slightly challenging look that made him wary. "But after the first week, we both knew it was already way past that."

_Oh shit. She was finally making him have this conversation. Couldn't she just hold off three more weeks?_

"At least it was for me," she continued. "You can't tell me you don't feel the same way, Dean."

He avoided her gaze as he turned to sit on the edge of the bed and began to pull his boots on. He knew he had to answer her but couldn't get any words out past the lump of guilt in the pit of his stomach. Of course he felt the same way. But telling her that wouldn't make things easier on her when the Hellhounds came to drag him away.

_How had he let it get this far? How had he gotten himself in so deep? And how had he allowed himself to set her up for such a hard fall? God he was a selfish bastard._

His silence was clearly getting her agitated and her voice grew sharper as she continued. "I've never complained about you never being there when I wake up and I know you never want to talk about any kind of 'relationship crap' so I don't bring it up," she argued. "But you can't tell me you don't feel the same way. I mean, is this seriously still just about the sex for you?"

"No," he said quickly, turning to face her but remaining perched on the edge of the bed. "No, of course not."

She looked like she was about to cry. _Oh shit, please don't cry._

"Look, Tash," he defended imploringly, "There's things going on here that you don't understand. Things I just can't explain. I told you that the very first week."

"Oh that's right," she spat back, her tone sharpening even further. Dean knew her well enough to know it was her way of avoiding getting too emotional. "The big 'family secret'." She actually finger quoted the words 'family secret'. "The one that you just can't talk about. The secret you and Sam argue about and whisper about whenever you think I'm not listening. The secret that has us going to see hoodoo witches and crazy-ass retired hunters that have nothing to do with the hunt we're working. The reason I'm asked to stay in the car while you guys go meet with some mysterious dude when we don't even have a hunt on the go."

Dean was slightly taken aback she had noticed as much as she had but supposed he shouldn't have been surprised. She had been with them almost twenty-four seven for the last two months and they had been searching for a way out of his deal through several unconventional avenues.

"I don't get it," she finished off angrily. "Don't you trust me enough by now to tell me what's going on? I let it go thinking you'd tell me eventually but now I just don't get it! Do you think it'll scare me off?" She raised her eyebrows expectantly but didn't wait for an answer. "I'm not going anywhere Dean."

 _No, but I am_.

Dean sighed again, hating seeing how much he was hurting her and knowing there was no way to avoid hurting her even more. But he just wasn't up for this conversation right now. He needed to figure out what the best way to tell her was. He knew he'd have to do it soon but it wasn't going to be tonight.

"We had an agreement, Tash," he said finally. "No attachment, no questions. Let's just... it was working fine, wasn't it?" He gave her a pleading look, working the puppy dog eyes as best as he could. He wasn't under any delusions that they were as powerful as his brother's, but she'd told him a dozen times she was a sucker for his long lashes and pouty lips so it was worth a try. "Can't we just keep things the way they were, just a little while longer?"

_A little while longer was all he had._

It was her turn to sigh and Dean recognized the sound as one of defeat. "Fine," she said quietly, turning her back to him and laying her head back down on the pillow. "Whatever you want."

The hunter debated leaning over and giving her a kiss goodnight but decided against it. He hadn't missed the accusing tone in her closing words and figured he should take the opportunity to leave. He stood up and made his way to the door, pausing and glancing back towards the small form in the bed as he closed it quietly behind him, his heart aching with dread of what the next couple of days was going to bring.

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	4. Chapter 4

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Sam sat at his laptop for less than a minute after Dean left before slamming it shut with a frustrated huff. It wasn't like he could concentrate on an internet search for a crop worker going postal anyway when his attention was unwillingly focused on listening for sounds coming from next door.

When he had gone to check-in, it had been his honest intention to get two rooms with some space between them, as was his habit of late. Motels in the Winchester-Dunn price range were notorious for having paper-thin walls and Sam had found out the first few nights that Tasha had joined them on the road that she and Dean were neither subtle nor quiet in their love-making. He had been appalled and genuinely mortified the first time he heard the headboard thumps, the screams of ecstasy, and even the squeaky bedsprings as clearly as if the pair were in the bed next to him. While silently commending his brother on his apparent stamina, he had made a point ever since to try and put a stranger's room or two between them as a buffer.

That had been his intention tonight, it really had. But when he asked for two rooms and the groggy desk clerk had turned to his book to select them, Sam had found himself blurting out "Next door to each other, please." It had been a moment of weakness and shame he was now almost regretting. Almost.

The motel was beyond silent due to the lateness of the hour and as he sat alone at the cheap, wooden table, Sam heard a soft thump on the other side of the wall behind him. He squirmed in his cramped, plastic chair and rationed that if Tasha's room was a mirror image of the one he was in, which he suspected it was, then something or someone had just been pushed up against the full length mirror. A woman's moan made it pretty clear who that was and Sam shook his head to get the vivid visual he was entertaining out of his mind. Damnit, this had been so much easier when he didn't have first-hand knowledge of that naked body to feed his imagination with.

He stood up quickly, pulling off his boots and throwing himself down on his bed, not bothering to get under the covers. He lay on his back and tried not to listen to the soft moans floating through the wall not four feet away from him but simply couldn't help himself. This was definitely **_not_** going to help him stop acting like an uptight tool around her, he scolded himself, painfully aware his inability to look her in the eyes tonight had been noticed.

He remembered the first day the Winchesters had met Natasha Dunn. He and Dean had been investigating a suspected vampire killing in Oklahoma. A woman in her mid forties had been found drained of blood with vicious bite marks all over her body. It seemed unusual because most vamps tried to fly under the hunter radar and rarely left bodies lying around that practically screamed 'vampire'.

After some preliminary sleuthing, the brothers had discovered a message had been written with the woman's blood on the wall of her house. It had read:

**_97 DOWN, 1 TO GO  
SEE YOU SOON NATASHA _ **

The local cops had no clue what it meant and honestly, neither had the Winchesters. They had returned to the house that night to search for some kind of lead and had instead run into a feisty intruder who had almost sliced Dean's neck with a blade coated in dead man's blood. That turned out to be Tasha, the dead woman's twenty-four year old neice. She had stopped fighting as soon as she realized they weren't vampires and grudgingly told them her story once she had confirmed they were hunters. Sam and Dean had both been quite fascinated by her tale.

Apparently, in the mid 1850's, her great, great times-six-or-something grandfather, a hunter in Spain, had killed a female vampire. Turns out that for well over a thousand years, this vampire bitch had been the mate of a two-thousand year old vampire named Diego, who was beyond pissed. In retaliation, Diego killed every living member of Tasha's grandfather's family that he could find, sending the rest fleeing into hiding. He vowed to search out and exterminate them all, thus ending the offensive bloodline. Since then, he had been doing just that, somehow tracking them down all over the globe and giving each and every one a torturous bloody death. The occasional child would slide under the radar for a while, long enough to reproduce, so he was still working his way down the line. Many hunters had tried to help over the decades and none could ever figure out how Diego kept finding them. He was old and powerful and could literally smell the bloodline inside the hunter's descendants, but how did he know where to look? Some managed to hide for longer than others, some triumphantly died of natural causes, and many refused to have children in an attempt to end the family curse in their own way.

The dead woman in Oklahoma and her sister Erin, who was Tasha's mother, had been the only two remaining as far as they were aware. The family had scattered so far and so deep that most had lost contact with each other generations ago. Tasha's mother had met Brian Malick, a hunter who had quickly devoted his life to hunting this vengeful vampire down and protecting Erin. A few years after they met, in a tin-roofed mudhouse in rural Mexico, they had a daughter they simply named Natasha. A daughter with no last name, no birth certificate, no medical records, and not a single witness to ever even know Erin had been pregnant. Every ID Tasha had ever had was a fake.

But it wasn't enough. Diego eventually caught up with them and killed Tasha's mother when she was eight and her father a few years later in an attempt to come after the teenage girl. The bloody writing on her aunt's wall made it clear Diego knew who she was and that he believed she was the last. She had quickly wiped away the few stray tears she had shed as she explained that her aunt had been the only other family she had.

Sam had seen how every word of her story had clawed at his brother's natural protective instinct and physically drawn the hunter into her personal space without Dean even being aware of it. Well, he was sure the perky breasts had a little something to do with it also, but Dean had been sucked right in.

A second series of panting, lustful moans reached his ears and Sam felt himself getting hard within his jeans. He resisted the temptation to unzip them and take care of himself, his pride refusing to allow him to sink so low as to jerk-off to the sound of his brother having sex. That was just perverted. A clear cry of " _Oh fuck! Dean!_ " reached his ears and he pulled his pillow over his face just in time to block out the second " _Dean!_ "

He had grown genuinely fond of Tasha over the past two months. She was good natured, generally easy to get along with, and she made Dean smile. Sure she could be a bit short-tempered in the morning before her wake-up coffee, but Sam had developed the habit of delivering one to her room when he went out to get his and Dean's and she had since stopped the morning scowls and seemed to truly appreciate the gesture. She had her strong opinions but when they were on a hunt, if she was outvoted by the Winchesters, she immediately relented, though she did insist on explaining in full detail why they were wrong and how they were just being stubborn, pigheaded, reckless men. She also had quite the potty-mouth and shared his brother's completely inappropriate sense of humor, but those things, Sam was used to.

When Dean had first suggested they let her ride with them for a couple of days until they reached Maine, Sam had thought his brother was thinking more about convenient sex than actually protecting her from Diego. But with less than three months left before Dean's deal was up, he couldn't deny his brother anything and had agreed with no qualms. When they had reached Maine and finished working the hunt and she was still with them, he hadn't said anything. When Dean had let her tag along to Barstow, he had still not complained. It wasn't until his brother told him she was coming with them to the hunt outside of Tuscon that he realized this wasn't another fling and that Dean really wanted her around. It was then that he had first raised the question of informing her about the deal but the elder hunter had waved off his concerns. ' _We're just having fun, Sammy_ ,' he had insisted. ' _No harm in that. She doesn't need to know_.'

At first, he had simply made polite conversation with her and gave her and Dean their space. After a week of traveling and working together, however, it was hard to avoid having more than a few brief moments alone with her at a time. In Barstow, Dean had gone undercover fishing for intel, leaving Sam and Tasha to sit in the Impala on an all-night stakeout together. Sam was a little nervous about the prospect as he rarely spent any time with Dean's floozies and practically never had real conversations with them that went beyond ' _it was nice to meet you_ ' and ' _oh no, you don't need to bring your sister over for me, I'll be fine_ '. The time had passed quickly, however, and he had found her intelligent and quick-witted. She had talked freely about anything and everything, recounting a slew of stories from the many foster homes she had stayed in. He found it amusing that she simply referred to them by number, 'foster mother number two' who had a cookie-baking fetish, 'foster dad number four' who took her to the Daytona 500 one year, 'foster home number seven' that was a freaking palace. The lack of names and repeat characters in her stories gave Sam the distinct impression she didn't make lasting ties or form permanent bonds, which loaned some merit to Dean's insistence this was just a casual thing between them. After that night, he too had begun to enjoy having her around.

She rarely spoke of her parents, at least, not to him. Her father had been killed by Diego when she was fourteen, hence the four years she spent in foster care before her eighteenth birthday when she had taken up hunting full time. As far as Sam could tell, she'd been alone ever since. Until now, that was.

He could hear the sounds of sex again, her high-pitched cries blending in erotic harmony with Dean's deep rumbling groans. He felt a new emotion creeping its way into the pit of his stomach and gasped in alarm when he recognized it as jealousy.

' _Jesus, Sam_ ,' he berated himself under his breath. ' _That's just low. She's Dean's. He's your brother!'_

He worked hard to stuff the unwanted feeling back into the deep confines of his subconscious, the guilt for even entertaining it momentarily soon taking over. He hadn't been able to get her off his mind all night, ever since the incident in the car. He kept imagining kissing her and holding her and doing all sorts of things one should never want to do to one's brother's girlfriend. It seemed the comfortable, platonic friendship they had enjoyed thus far had been wiped completely from his mind and he found himself struggling to try and retrieve it.  _'It was just a back-seat fuck, Sam, get over it!'_

He sat up and turned on the clock radio, not even caring that it was the local country station on the dial. He turned the lamp off, lay back down and closed his eyes, breathing easier now that his ears were no longer betraying him by straining to hear what was going on next door. He couldn't afford this distraction right now. He had three weeks left to find Dean a way out of his deal. Three weeks! In the last forty-nine weeks, he'd found nothing. Zero. Didly. Squat. He was three weeks away from failing his brother in the worst possible way. He needed to focus on that.

He managed to do just that, his mind sorting through all that they'd attempted so far and trying to think of something they hadn't. He had so far been focusing on breaking the deal but was starting to think maybe a new approach was needed. Like what if they found a way to keep Dean alive? No death meant no Hell.

He heard Dean's key rattling in the door lock surprisingly soon. Usually his brother spent a couple of hours with Tasha before returning to the Winchesters' room. Seems tonight was a bit of a 'wham, bam, thank-you Mam' deal, he thought to himself, reining in his rising temper as he found himself getting annoyed at Dean for treating Tasha like a piece of meat. ' _Not my place to judge or interfere_ ,' he reminded himself. He realized that Dean's insistence of coming back to their room and never spending the night with her was probably his emotionally-fucked brother's way of fooling himself into believing he and Tasha weren't a serious thing. At two months, this was the longest relationship the elder Winchester had ever had with a woman and the guy couldn't even admit it _was_ a relationship.

Dean came in quietly, the only lights in the room being the trickle escaping through the gap below the bathroom door and the illuminated green numbers on the alarm clock. Sam closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep with no idea why he was doing so. He heard the unmistakable sound of his brother removing his boots and arranging his coat over himself as he lay down on the empty motel bed.

A few moments later, Dean reached up and turned down the radio, Tim McGraw's crooning fading to nothingness. Another moment passed in complete silence before Dean spoke.

"Sam?" he said softly into the near dark room.

Sam couldn't ignore the desperate tone in his brother's single word and opened his eyes, rolling his head sideways to face him. It was too dark to see Dean's eyes but he could tell they were open and staring up at the ceiling.

"Yeah, Dean?" he answered in an equally hushed voice.

"I screwed up."

Sam let out a sigh as he propped his head up on his elbow. "How so?" he asked with genuine concern.

"I never should have asked her to come along with us," Dean said, his voice faltering near the end of the sentence. "We should have left her in Maine."

"What happened?" Sam couldn't help but wonder what had transpired in the five minutes from the time he last heard the sounds of their sex to when Dean had left the room. What could have changed so drastically in five minutes?

Dean didn't answer the question but rather continued on from his previous comment. "It's just that back then there was still three months left and I still thought maybe…" He let the sentence trail off.

"You thought maybe we'd find a way to save you," Sam finished for him, his heart twisting into a painful knot that Dean was losing hope, losing faith in Sam being able to save him. "We will, Dean. I've got some ideas still. If we…"

This time Dean cut him off. "And I thought it was just about sex," the elder Winchester blurted. "She was a good lay and I figured I deserved a bit of fun before I go but…"

"But it wasn't just sex," Sam concluded, not surprised at how easily they were able to finish each other's sentences.

"No, it's not," he heard Dean say into the dark, his voice barely audible. "And now she's gonna pay for my selfishness and there's nothing I can do about it."

"You have to tell her," Sam said, knowing this time Dean would heed his suggestion.

"I know," Dean answered. "I will. Just give me a couple of days. After this hunt, I promise." The elder Winchester was silent for a long moment. "I just want a couple more days of her looking at me and seeing me, not my expiry date."

"What do you mean?" Sam knew how rare it was for Dean to share his feelings and wanted to take advantage of his brother's momentary vulnerability to extract as much as he could out of him.

"I mean like you and Bobby," Dean explained, still speaking into the darkness. "I catch you guys staring at me all the time and you're always worried and scared and I get that, I really do, but it's hard to have the fact that I'm going to Hell hanging so heavy all around me. Tasha…she just sees me. She doesn't see the guy whose gonna be dead in three weeks and I just want a couple more days of that before I tell her, okay?"

Sam swallowed, feeling guilty at ever thinking his brother had been heartless. The gripping fear of losing Dean seared through Sam all over again, even fiercer than it ever had before. He loved his brother beyond belief. Dean had been served nothing but crap on a cheap tin plate his whole life and now, when he finally had the teeniest chance at finding some happiness, it was being ripped from him in the worst possible way. Dean deserved that happiness and he sure as heck didn't deserve to go to Hell. And the worst part was that all of this was happening to Dean because of Sam and there didn't seem to be a damn thing Sam could do about it.

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	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (thanks CrazyLadyInVegas!)

Sam stopped just before he reached the door with the faded stick-on number eleven, shuffling his feet and fidgeting on the motel's porch. The cardboard drink tray holding three hot coffees in it wobbled in his free hand as he forced himself to knock.

Tasha answered in her sleep clothes as she usually did, giving him a lopsided smile and squinting into the bright sun as he pulled her coffee from the tray and handed it to her. "It's almost nine o'clock," she scolded in jest. "You're getting slack."

"Sorry," Sam mumbled in apology, relaxing at her familiar teasing tone. "Musta slept in."

"Yeah yeah. Just don't let it happen again." She popped off the lid and blew gently on the hot drink, holding his gaze over the raised cup.

"So sorry your highness." Sam retorted, impressed with how convincingly casual he sounded. Maybe if he just pretended last night never happened, things could just go back to how they were before the madness of what they had all done in the Impala's back seat had clouded things. It really didn't seem to be bothering her or Dean, so it was pathetic for him to be all awkward about it.

"When are we heading over to the college?" she asked him, her expression turning serious.

Sam jerked his head to the next door down. "Dean's in the shower now," he told her. "I'd say about fifteen minutes."

She nodded and stepped back into the room. "I'd better get ready then. Thanks for the coffee." He began to move away when she added "Oh, and happy birthday Sam." He turned to return her smile and give her a wave of thanks before she closed the door.

Twenty minutes later found them all piling into the Impala, Sam in his usual shotgun seat and Dean behind the wheel. The elder Winchester pulled out onto the road with a roar and turned left instead of right.

"Uh, I think the college is the other way, Dean," Tasha informed him.

"I was gonna drop you off at the library first," Dean told her, catching her eye in the rear view mirror.

"What for?"

"We have two angles to work," the hunter explained. "There's the dreamroot thing and the angry spirit thing. I figured Sam and I can canvass the college with the description of our dreamwalker and you can do some research on the killer crop worker to find out where he's buried."

She didn't look pleased. "Why doesn't Sam do the library thing?" she argued. "He actually likes that crap." She squeezed Sam's shoulder. "No offense, Einstein."

"None taken," he chuckled, glad there didn't seem to be any lingering tension between the three anymore.

"I don't want you anywhere near the college," Dean said, his voice taking a no-nonsense tone as he addressed the girl in the back seat. "All it takes is a strand of hair and you're a sitting duck for this pervert."

Tasha looked like she was going to argue but pursed her lips and remained silent. "Fine, you have a point," she conceded. She sank back into the leather seat with a loud huff. "This is gonna be a boring-ass day for me," she griped.

Neither Winchester disputed that statement, both privately glad to not have to sit in a stuffy library on such a nice, sunny day.

They dropped her off and headed back towards the college, parking on a side street and starting near the girl's dorm that Ashley was staying in. There was another co-ed dorm but they had no way of knowing if there were victims in there also. It was very conceivable but, unless there was an incident to bring it out in the open like Ashley's cafeteria meltdown, the girls in there could just all be thinking they'd had a regular nightmare. All the brothers had to go on was the description from Ashley. Tasha had repeated it to them in more detail this morning and given them a hand drawn sketch of a man's face. Last night, while the Winchesters had been scanning the dorm for EMF readings, she had pressed Ashley for every last detail and drawn up the sketch with the scared college girl. Dean took a good look at this sketch now as he got out of the car.

"She's a pretty good artist," he said as he studied it and Sam didn't miss the hint of pride in his voice.

"Better'n' me," Sam admitted with a shrug, fully aware he had could barely draw stick figures.

The elder Winchester folded it up and put it in his pocket. "Yeah, too bad she can't sing for shit," he grinned.

Sam snorted, deciding not to let on that he knew the insult was Dean's lame attempt at covering the fact that he was completely smitten with their new hunting companion. "Dude, have you heard yourself sing lately?" he commented.

Dean chose to ignore the dig since it wa a well-known fact that Sam couldn't carry a tune with a bucket and could in fact start alley cats screeching with what he called singing.

They started asking everyone they saw, showing the drawing under the pretense of participating in some fraternity-organized treasure hunt for Grad week. Dean quickly became frustrated as they realized this was like looking for a needle in a haystack.

After a couple of hours, Sam's patience at the constant griping from his brother was wearing thin. "Fine, Dean, you win," he said finally, taking a deep breath. "Let's take a break and start checking out the possible names we have so far."

"Right," Dean agreed quickly, grabbing Sam's notepad and flipping to the short list they had generated. "We got Scott Szleweski."

"We ruled him out because he's dating a girl in Ashley's dorm and apparently spends a lot of time there, remember? If he eats in the cafeteria there every day, then one of the girls at least would have recognized him in her dream," Sam pointed out.

"So if the guy's never around the dorm, how's he getting the girls' DNA?" Dean countered.

Sam shrugged. "Remember it could still be the crop worker."

Dean shook his head. "My gut tells me it's a dude with dreamroot."

"Your gut tells you bacon double cheeseburgers are breakfast food."

"Next on the list is Mason Wright," Dean continued, unfazed by the familiar jab about his eating habits. "He's a TA for the Biology Professor. Let's start with him."

Sam called professor Kogen and got addresses and class schedules for the four suspects on their list. They started with the Biology TA, cornering him outside his next class, but neither of them got a psycho vibe from him so they moved on quickly.

The second guy was a grad student who lived off campus. His roommates informed the Winchesters he had been gone all week as some family emergency had called him back to Flagstaff. Since there had been three incidents this week, it stood to reason this wasn't their guy.

Phyllis had told them their third suspect, Sheldon Weike, was a second year Philosophy student who was also on the university staff as a dishwasher in the campus bar.  The brothers decided to try his workplace since his class schedule showed he had no classes today.

The campus bar was a busy place in the late afternoon. The waitress huffed in annoyance when they told her they weren't there to eat and just wanted to talk to Sheldon but they managed to sweet-talk her into going to get him from the back anyway. He came out a moment later wiping his hands on a filthy apron and giving them a wary scowl. Like the first guy, he bore a strong resemblance to Tasha and Ashley's sketch.

"Do I know you?" he asked sharply.

"We've been asked to do a survey of university students that are also on the staff and your name's on the list so we just have a few questions for you," Sam lied.

Sheldon looked annoyed but stood his ground. "Alright, what?"

"You're a recent transfer," Sam continued, not really sure what information would help them. "Where'd you transfer from?"

"Pittsburg."

Dean's head snapped up to attention. It had been four months ago in Pittsburg that university student Jeremy Frost had gone all Freddy Kreuger on Bobby. The Winchesters didn't believe in coincidences and this was certainly one Hell of a coincidence.

"Why'd you transfer?" he demanded in a slightly belligerent tone.

"The only decent prof there died," Sheldon shrugged. "The new guy sucked; he was barely even published. This place has a better program."

"The prof that died, that would be Doctor Walter Greg?" Sam pressed.

"Yeah, you know of him?"

Sam and Dean shared a suspicious look but didn't bother answering. "Did you participate in Dr. Greg's sleep study?" Sam asked. The professor's records had been seriously sparse and he and Dean had never found out how many students had been convinced to join in the study for extra credit or cash. It had been run in an unofficial capacity and involved giving some of the subjects African dreamroot.

Sheldon's shoulders stiffened and the Winchesters had enough experience in reading people's reactions to notice the sudden shift in his demeanor. His annoyed stance instantly took on a more defensive and yet defiant air.

"No. I don't know what you're talking about," he denied quickly. _Too quickly._

"Ever hear of African dreamroot?" Dean hissed, squaring his own shoulders.

"No," was the steady, almost angry reply. "And I think I've had enough of your bullshit survey questions," he added, meeting Dean's hard stare with one of his own.

"What's the matter?" Dean spat, "Don't like being up against someone your own size? You're just a regular schmuck out here, huh?"

"What is your problem?" Sheldon demanded, taking a step towards Dean and showing no signs of being intimidated despite being outnumbered by two bigger men. Sam jumped forward and slid his arm in between them.

"Whoa, Dean," he placated. "We've got what we needed; let's go."

His brother gave him a look of disbelief. Sam could tell Dean wanted nothing more than to beat this guy senseless right here but that wouldn't solve anything. He leaned forward and murmured in his sibling's ear. "Not here, not now."

He felt Dean's shoulders relax at the sensible words and watched as his brother reined in his temper. He could literally see Dean fighting to gain control over his anger, his struggle playing itself out as clear as day on his face. Sam watched as logic and reason crept in and slowly relaxed his brother's clenched jaw muscles and furrowed brow.

There was no point in doing anything to the guy here. They would go back to his place, break in, search for his dreamroot to first confirm he was their perv, and then pay him a little visit later on.

"Fine," Dean finally conceded, taking a step backwards.

Sam turned to Sheldon. "Thanks, you've been a big help," he said politely, not wanting to tip him off any more than they already had.

Sheldon snorted and turned on his heel. "Fucking rejects," they heard him mumble as he headed stiffly back towards the kitchen.

Back outside, Dean nearly exploded. "That's our guy!"

"I know," Sam admitted. "But let's get some proof anyway, alright?" He sank into his usual shotgun seat and waited for Dean to start up the engine.

"I should have plugged him right there," Dean grumbled.

"Yeah, coz shooting a guy in a bar full of people would have really been the best option," Sam scoffed. "Let's go back to his place and find his stash of dreamoot. That'll be enough proof and we can decide what to do with him later."

Dean gave Sam a sharp look. "I thought we already established that. We smoke him."

"I know," Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "It's just that…"

"Yeah, I get it," Dean said more quietly, surprising Sam in the admission. "It's a whole different story when it's a human and they're not in the middle of trying to kill an innocent person or anything." He pulled the Impala out onto the road.

Sam nodded and let out a long exhale, not looking forward to what they had to do. "I don't see any other way of stopping him," he agreed. "It's not like we can send him to jail."

"Just think of it like witches," Dean rationalized. "They're human but they're using supernatural means to hurt people. In my book, that puts them under our jurisdiction."

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Sheldon Weike's address was a nice sized, three-storey house just off campus. The brothers broke in and immediately figured they had the wrong place because there were family photos and nice, yuppie-type furniture throughout. It wasn't until they ventured into the huge three-car garage full of barely-used carpentry tools that they discovered the locked door to the basement with a mailbox on it and realized there was a basement apartment. Thirty seconds and another picked lock later, they were standing in Sheldon's living room.

The place was quite large, almost the full size of the house above, but was stocked with old, threadbare furniture and a full-depth TV on a scratched up dresser in the corner.

"Think the Cleavers upstairs have any idea who they've got living down here?" Dean mumbled as he started searching the drawers in the TV stand for the dreamroot.

"I doubt it," Sam answered. "From the family photos, they've got a teenage daughter. If he hasn't already…" He let the sentence drop.

"The thought of wasting this guy just keeps getting easier and easier," Dean commented truthfully.

Ten minutes of hard searching and Sam finally cried out in triumph, pulling a plastic Ziploc bag of what looked a big chunk of garlic out from a hole behind a loose piece of baseboard trim in the living room. He pulled it open and took a sniff, wrinkling up his nose at the vile but recognizable stench the root gave off. He turned and moved to stand up to go into the back bedroom to show Dean but was startled to find a figure standing over him. He barely had time to throw his arm up in front of his face before the tire iron struck him. The next few seconds were a blur.

He was knocked to the ground and felt his head strike something hard underneath him, presumably the floor. His vision went white but he kicked out at whoever was above him and felt his sneaker make solid contact. His eyes managed to focus enough to see his brother appear in the doorway at the back of the apartment, a wild and worried look on his face.

"Sam!" Dean shouted as he flew forward.

The guy above him, presumably Sheldon Weike, was raising his arms to strike again when Dean barreled into him, the pair of them rolling to the floor and smashing into the coffee table.

Sam struggled to sit up and watched a blurry version of his brother getting in a few punches before he was doubling over as one landed in his gut. Sheldon struck him twice more before shoving him backwards and knocking him off his feet. The dark-haired man threw a glance towards Sam and his eyes narrowed at the sight of the baggie in the hunter's hand. He then turned and bolted towards the door. Dean picked himself up off the floor and launched himself after him.

Dean was pissed. First off, the guy was hurting innocent girls and there wasn't anything more contemptible in Dean's opinion. Girls and kids were strictly off limits. Secondly, the guy had hit his little brother with a tire iron. Nobody touched his little brother; the instinct to protect Sam was even stronger than the one looking out for girls and kids. It was this anger that fueled him as he propelled himself through the doorway into the garage.

He rounded the corner of the door jamb and straight into Sheldon's line of fire. He was slammed back into the wall and felt the agonizing sting of three sharp projectiles sinking into his shoulder and arm. He looked up to see the dark-haired dishwasher aiming a nail gun at him, pressing a screwdriver to the tip to release the safety.

"Motherffff…" he cursed, trying to swallow past the pain and stay on his feet. He didn't recover fast enough, however, because the next thing he knew he was being hit repeatedly with the same tire iron the bastard had used on his little brother. He instinctively kicked out at Sheldon but had to give up the futile attempt at fighting back to curl his arms over his head in a defensive position as the blows got harder. He had no idea how long the vicious attack continued for the next thing he remembered, his brother was grabbing at the front of his shirt. He heard Sam calling his name, panic tracing the edges of his voice, and felt a hand gently tapping his cheek as blackness swallowed him.

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	6. Chapter 6

 

  
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Sam was still struggling to his feet when he heard his brother utter half a curse word and fall to the floor on the other side of the doorway. He drew from his share of inherited Winchester resolve and forced his shaky legs to carry him towards the scuffle. When he reached the garage doorway, he saw Sheldon whaling on his brother with the tire iron and a renewed energy surged within him.

"Sheldon!" he screamed, lunging for Dean's attacker. Sheldon looked up just in time to receive Sam's fist in his face and the weapon flew from his hand as he fell backwards. Sam stepped over Dean, protectively placing his bulk in front of him as he clenched his fists, ready to strike again. The smaller man scrambled to his feet, however, and opted for flight over fight, turning and running for the exit. After a quick glance down at his fallen brother, Sam chose not to follow him.

He knelt down next to Dean, who let out a soft groan and slumped back against the wall. The younger hunter gently pushed Dean's defensively raised arm down to get a better look at him. There was a cut on his forehead that was just starting to bleed, a trickle of red making its way down the side of his face. As Sam reached for him, Dean's eyelids drifted closed and his head lolled sideways. Sam fisted his brother's shirt collar and called his name a few times, tapping his cheek when he got no reaction.

Dean was completely out. Sam felt for a pulse and was grudgingly satisfied with what he found. He ghosted his hands over his brother's head, however, and swallowed hard at the couple of big lumps that were already starting to form. Nursing a killer headache himself, Sam rolled back on his haunches for a second to gather his thoughts. He had to get Dean out of there before Sheldon called the cops. As far as they would see it, the Winchesters were the only ones breaking the law.

He grabbed the baggie of dreamroot that had been dropped in his haste to get to Dean and stuffed it into his jacket. He squatted back down and tried to decide the best way to pick his brother up and get him into the car. Hearing a vibrating sound from Dean's jeans pocket, he paused and instead pulled his brother's phone out, reading the display. He flipped it open and, at the same time, pulled up one of the unconscious hunter's eyelids to check his pupils.

"Tasha, hi," he said simply, his focus on the overly dilated green eye staring blankly up at him.

" _Sam? Why are you answering Dean's phone?"_

"Listen, I can't talk right now. We found the guy but Dean took a knock on the head. I have to get him back to the motel."

 _"Is he okay?"_   There was no mistaking the fear in her voice.

Sam lifted the second eyelid and was heartened when he felt his brother stir. "Yeah, don't worry, I got him," he assured her. "I'll call you back in a bit."

" _Okay,"_ she agreed quietly.

Sam flipped the phone shut and pulled Dean up into the sitting position, breathing a sigh of relief at the disgruntled moan he was rewarded with for his efforts. Releasing his grip on Dean's shirt, he noticed the blood soaking through on the hunter's shoulder and upper arm.

"What the…?" He pulled the shirt aside and tore the t-shirt underneath to get a better look at the source of the blood.

"Bastard shot me," Dean whispered, fighting to raise his head and open his eyes. The stream of blood from the head wound was running down across his brow, making him blink with the sticky accumulation in his lashes.

"What!?" Sam heard his voice rise twelve octaves but didn't care as he searched frantically for the bullet wound in the blood-smeared skin of Dean's shoulder. He hadn't heard a gunshot but he _had_ been a little groggy himself after the blow to the head he'd taken.

"With a nail gun." Dean finished, actually having the nerve to chuckle at Sam's obvious panic.

Sam found the head of the first nail, protruding about a quarter of an inch out of Dean's shoulder and uttered a few choice curses under his breath. "I need to get you back to the motel to take these out," he told his brother. "You gonna be okay 'til then?"

Dean gave him a withering look. "Just help me up, Sasquatch," he grumbled.

Sam tucked himself under Dean's good side and hauled him to his feet, gripping his arm to steady him until he got his feet under himself. He could feel Dean's body tensing with the sharp pain but the stoic hunter never made a sound. Sam never failed to be amazed by the amount of abuse Dean could take and soldier on without a complaint. Why that didn't apply to colds, sniffles, and awkward rashes, he had no idea.

He took the brunt of his brother's weight as they made their way back out to the car. Dean was lowered into the passenger side as gently as Sam could manage, his face screwed up into a continual wince of pain at the jostling. The bleeding hunter tried to relax into the comfortable leather seat but frowned when he rolled his head sideways to face Sam as the younger man started up the engine with a roar.

"Dude, you're bleeding," Dean chastised, scowling at the blood trickling out from beneath Sam's longer hair at the nape of his neck.

"I'm fine," Sam said with enough force to effectively quash any ridiculous comments Dean may have been planning with regards to him driving or stopping to check out Sam's wounds. His big brother had been known to be frustratingly overprotective, to both the neglect and detriment of his own health. Dean's impending date with the Hellhounds was proof of that and Sam didn't have the patience to put up with another bout of 'big brother' right now. Not when Dean was beaten and bleeding in the passenger seat.

Dean made a noise that sounded like "hmph" but remained silent for the rest of the drive. Sam helped him into the motel room and tore the bloodied t-shirt off altogether, for which he received a stream of curses that he knew had more to do with the pain of the three nails protruding from Dean's body than the loss of a plain grey t-shirt.

He started with the one in the hunter's bicep, grabbing the head with a pair of pliers and giving it a sharp yank backwards. Dean simply hissed in pain and nodded for him to continue. The second nail was wedged into his collarbone and Sam winced in sympathy at the mere sight of it. Dean couldn't help but release a sharp cry of pain as that one was yanked out. The third was deep, so deep that Sam had to poke around under the skin to find the head.

"You ready?" he asked when he finally got the pliers clamped on it.

"Just do it already," Dean ground out through gritted teeth.

Sam pulled it out, dropping the nail on the table as he doused the area quickly with alcohol. Well, vodka actually, the usual antiseptic of hunters. Dean clenched his fists around the arms of the chair as he panted his way through the stinging pain of the wounds being cleaned and struggled to stay awake.

There was a knock on the door and both brothers jumped at the unexpected sound. Dean wagged his fingers towards his duffel, gesturing for Sam to grab his .45 for him but the tension instantly dissipated when Tasha's voice drifted through the door.

"Sam? Dean? You guys in there?"

Sam opened the door for her, standing back when she caught sight of Dean sitting at the table, shirtless and bleeding and rushed past Sam with a gasp. He stifled a laugh when he caught his embarrassed big brother rolling his eyes at her fretting when she immediately took over seeing to his wounds. Dean wasn't used to being fussed over without first flirting the attention out of an emergency room nurse. Sam could completely understand Tasha's reaction, however, because he had to admit Dean looked bad. Besides the vodka-smeared blood on his shoulder and face, multiple bruises were starting to form all over his shoulder and forearm from the tire iron.

"I got a booboo," Dean chuckled, giving her a mischievous wink. "I'm gonna need you to kiss it better."

"What you need is full body armor," she retorted, no amusement showing through her worry.

"I'll second that," Sam chimed in, deciding to see to his own head wound now that he had effectively been relieved of Dean-duty. He was dabbing a wet cloth on the painful lump on the back of his skull when it occurred to him Tasha had no car.

"How'd you get here?" he asked suddenly.

"I hitched," she answered distractedly.

"What? You know how dangerous that is?"

Tasha turned to face him with a raised eyebrow. "Seriously?" she asked with an astonished laugh. "I hunt monsters and vampires and you're gonna give me a hard time over thumbing a ride from some local fratboy?"

When she put it like that it did sound a little ridiculous so he let it drop, scolding himself for sounding too protective. That was Dean's job.

"So what happened, anyway?" she asked, directing her question at Sam. The younger hunter sat down with a sigh and filled her in on their day.

"It makes sense it's your dreamroot theory," she shrugged. "Coz I found a photo of the crop worker murderer and the three people he killed and emailed it to Ashley and none of them look anything like her guy. I was bored, being stuck in a library and all," she rolled her eyes, "so I looked through recent death records and found two people who've died inexplicably in their sleep in the last couple of weeks. A healthy male student from the college and a woman in her forties who worked across town."

"So Sheldon's killed people as well," Sam surmised.  "Murderer and rapsit."

"That'd be my guess. What's our next move?" she asked him.

She was still addressing Sam and he belatedly noticed that although she was gently applying a butterfly bandage to the cut over Dean's brow, she was avoiding any direct eye contact with the elder Winchester. On top of that, she clearly considered Dean out of commission at this point and it occured to Sam that the fact Dean wasn't picking up on that meant his brother was indeed in pretty bad shape. Dean was being eerily quiet. Sam could always tell when Dean was _really_   hurting because he stopped his griping.

"Let's take a breather," Sam suggested, gesturing towards his brother whose vision was temporarily blocked by the wet cloth over his eyes. If he was being honest, he was still shaken from the memory of seeing Dean crumpled on the floor and bleeding. He'd seen Dean die a hundred deaths before but there was no Trickster involved here and there would be no do-overs this time. If Dean died now, before Sam had the chance to find a way out of his deal, then it was all over. Today had been too close. If Sheldon had landed just one well-placed blow…

 _Too fucking close_.

"We can give it a couple of hours before we start looking for Sheldon," he finished with a sigh.

"What if he goes dreamwalking in the meantime?" Tasha pressed.

He pulled the baggie out of his pocket and tossed it on the table. "We've got his stash. Besides, nobody's sleeping in the middle of the day. We've got some time."

She seemed reassured by his words and nodded in acceptance. She finished cleaning and bandaging Dean's wounds quietly and stepped back, letting Sam take his brother's arm to haul him towards the comfort of the bed. Dean's knees buckled after three steps and Sam took all of his weight, sitting him down on the mattress and fluffing up the pillows behind him. He took it as a good sign when Dean groaned at the mother hen routine and batted his hand at him to back off.

"No sleeping," Sam warned, allowing a smirk to pull at his lips as he stood back.

"I think I know a thing or two about concussions and head wounds, Sam," Dean groused, grabbing the remote from the bedside table and clicking the TV on. "Just give me an hour and a cheeseburger and we'll go get this son of a bitch."

"I'll go get the food," Tasha offered quickly, slipping out the door before either of the Winchesters could protest.

"What's with her?" Sam asked, thinking the girl's quick exit was a bit peculiar.

"Women," Dean scoffed, though there was a tone of understanding in his voice. "They think too much about what _might_   have happened. She'll be alright."

Sam thought about Dean's words, finding himself genuinely surprised at how astute an observation Dean had actually made. He sometimes forgot that Tasha had been alone a long time and having someone else to worry about was a bit of a new thing for her. He couldn't help but wonder if she would be as shaken if he had been hurt instead of Dean.

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Two hours and two cheeseburgers later, Dean was back on his feet as promised. His shoulder and forearm were a mass of bruises and he had a nasty gash above his eye but somehow he seemed convincingly fine. Tasha's mood seemed to follow suit and by the time Dean made a joke at Sam's expense, she laughed out loud.

"We gotta find this guy," Dean announced suddenly, turning off the TV and grabbing his coat. "It's suppertime already and for all we know, he could have more dreamroot."

Sam gave him a concerned look and received a sharp glare of warning in return. "I'm fine," Dean insisted. "Besides, this is a normal dude, remember. Not some super-powered fugly."

Tasha snorted. "Yeah, a normal dude who took down two Winchesters," she pointed out, earning herself a scowl of disapproval from both brothers. "I'm just saying," she said with a shrug. "Okay, where do we start looking?"

"I say we try the house again," Sam shrugged. "If he's not there, we try the bar."

"Sounds like a plan," she nodded, rooting through her duffle for her 9mm.

"Where do you think you're going?" Dean said sharply.

Tasha spun to face him. "Oh no you don't," she warned. "Don't even think it. You get yourself half killed and you're gonna try telling me it's too dangerous?"

Dean shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah, but this guy's a perv," he argued weakly.

"How's that worse than going up against some ghoul who wants to eat you or a demon who wants to make you his meat suit?" she demanded, tucking her handgun down the back of her jeans. "Besides, I'm gonna be with you the whole time."

Sam looked back and forth between the pair. "I'll wait in the car," he spoke up suddenly, grabbing his duffle and darting out the door.

Dean sighed but held Tasha's gaze. She had joined them on a lot of hunts over the past two months and had been in several dangerous, violent situations and he knew she could hold her own, but this one was different. He couldn't explain why but he had a bad feeling about this one. This guy was worse than the demons and ghouls because they were at least predictable. They were acting like they were supposed to act. They couldn't help what they were – killing was in their nature. This sadistic bastard was human and Dean just couldn't figure out evil humans.

"Look," Dean said gently, "I realize I kinda scared you today."

"Kinda?" she snorted. "Did you see the mess you were in?"

"I'm fine now," he insisted, stepping in close and placing a reassuring hand on her arm, his green eyes unwavering as they peered down into her brown ones. He knew how to convince people he was fine; he'd been doing it his whole life.

"I know that," she replied, the antagonism disappearing from her voice. "But I have as much right to hunt this guy as you do and..."…she paused… "…And I have as much right to try and look out for you as you do for me."

Dean studied her face for a moment before she suddenly pressed up against him and buried her head in his chest, her slender arms wrapping around his waist. He closed his eyes and returned the hug, pressing his lips to the top of her head. A diverse mixture of feelings flooded through him, as they did whenever she expressed some hint of affection that ran deeper than the sexual chemistry they shared. There was fear and there was doubt but there was also what he thought might actually be happiness. Or maybe it was hope. He dared not call it love.

Whatever it was, her next words shattered it and replaced it completely with guilt.

"I really can't take anyone else dying, okay?" she mumbled into his chest. "So I'm coming to make sure you don't go getting yourself killed. I can't lose you too."

Dean was glad she couldn't see his face. He badly wanted to tell her he wasn't going anywhere, that she wasn't going to lose him and that he would never leave her but he couldn't. Lies didn't get any bigger than that. His stomach was tying itself in knots with dread over having to tell her about his deal and he knew he was completely to blame for what was to come, for the pain he was going to cause her.

"I'm sorry," he breathed, still holding her close.

He felt a chuckle vibrating through her chest and she pulled away just enough to look up at him. At five foot eight, she was a good five inches shorter than he was and had to push herself up onto her tippy-toes to plant a quick kiss on his lips. " _You_ don't have to apologize," she smiled. "You didn't hit _yourself_   with a tire iron." She stepped away and grabbed her jacket. "Now this Sheldon prick, on the other hand, owes me a huge apology."

Dean managed a laugh of his own, his usual emotional mask reassembling itself as he shoved all the unwanted feelings back inside where they had spent the last twenty-five years. "Owes _you?"_   he snorted. "That guy ruined my favorite t-shirt. He owes me twelve bucks."

He followed her out the door to find Sam waiting in the Impala's driver's seat. Dean didn't argue and simply got in the passenger side. Although he had refused to wear a sling, his arm was still throbbing painfully and his baby, as much as he loved her, was a beast to drive.

There was no sign of Sheldon Weike at his house. The family upstairs was home and Tasha knocked on the door to ask but they didn't seem to have noticed anything amiss downstairs and told her they thought he was at work.

The hunters tried the bar next but again found nothing. Sam and Dean tried to keep a low profile in case anyone who had possibly seen them earlier in a near-confrontation with the dishwasher thought to warn him they had returned. Although it went against both Winchesters' instincts, they took a booth in the back corner while Tasha asked around for Sheldon.

She came back over after a few minutes and slid into the booth next to Dean. "He left early from his lunch shift today," she explained, "but the bartender says that Sheldon told him he would definitely be back by seven tonight for his late shift."

Both hunters looked at their watches in unison. "Just after six," Sam said with an impatient huff. "I suppose we can wait here for an hour."

A waitress came over and Dean ordered a round of drinks; a Becks beer for Sam, Tasha's usual Bailey's and milk, and a double scotch neat for himself. He ignored Sam's disapproving frown at his selection. He was in pain and he felt justified ordering the hard stuff even while on the job when he was in pain.

Half an hour later, as he was jostling his way out of the crowded men's room, Dean threw a furtive glance over towards the kitchen. The doors had two round windows and he could see the dishwashing station from this angle so he and Sam had been taking turns every few minutes or so to scope it out and see if Sheldon had shown up for work yet. There was still a short, red-headed kid standing there, scrubbing pots and looking bored as hell. Dean groaned with impatience and was about to head back to their booth when he saw him.

Sheldon Weike, standing in the dark corner by the staff exit behind the waitress who had taken their order. He was looking right at Dean but he didn't seem worried or nervous. "Arrogant prick," Dean muttered under his breath, anger boiling up inside him at the mere sight of this guy.

But the anger turned to fear when he suddenly realized what Sheldon was holding. It was just a glass, but Dean's observational skills were better than most and he immediately picked out that the waitress was heading towards the kitchen and had an empty bottle of Becks and an empty whiskey glass on her tray. The glass Sheldon was holding up with a taunting wave was empty but had a milky white residue all around it.

 _Oh shit -_ _Bailey's and milk._

Sheldon aimed a vicious smirk at Dean before throwing a lewd eyebrow twitch in the direction of the booth where Sam and Tasha were sitting near the back of the bar.  Then he disappeared out the staff door.

Dean didn't think, he just reacted.  "You bastard!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, shoving people out of his way in his panic to follow. He literally leapt over a table full of college kids, who jumped up screaming to escape the array of drinks his heavy boot knocked over. He landed on his feet on the other side and kept running but was hindered by two bouncers grabbing his arms as he neared the door.

"Settle down buddy," one of them ordered, trying to bring him to a halt. Dean hauled off and punched him in the face and kept on running, oblivious to the fact that they were coming after him. He skidded his way out the back door only to see a small blue Toyota peeling out of the staff parking lot, empty glass held triumphantly out the window like the checkered flag after a Grand prix win.

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	7. Chapter 7

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Sam was glad Dean was away from the table when the waitress came to take away their empty glasses because it prevented the elder Winchester from ordering another round. Dean usually waited for between hunts to tie one on but Sam knew his brother too well. He knew Dean tended to reach for the hard stuff when he was really scared. This usually wasn't a problem since not much managed to scare the hardened hunter except chick flick moments and Sam in trouble, but with his deadline quickly approaching, Sam could see through Dean's cool facade. The increase in nips of whiskey lately was just one of the signs that fear was gnawing away at him.

The hunters couldn't see much from their booth in the corner since it was Friday and the bar was starting to get crowded, so he and Dean were taking turns faking visits to the men's room in an effort to scope out the kitchen for any sign of Sheldon. Once they spotted him, the plan was to have Tasha lure him out to the desolate back parking lot where he and Dean would take over. Sam shuddered to think about what was to happen after that.

Meanwhile, left alone at the table with Tasha, he was trying very hard to make small talk and sound like he wasn't thinking about what they had done the night before. How sexy she looked naked and covered in sweat, how good it had felt to be inside her, and how badly he wanted to do it again. He kept glancing around the bar as much in an effort to avoid eye contact with her as to search for any sign of Sheldon.

He was answering her question about how long ago Dean's last tetanus shot was when he heard the commotion. He looked around sharply to see his brother leaping onto one of the tables and towards the back door, drinks spilling and people screaming all around. Sam was on his feet in an instant, his hunter's training reducing his reaction time to as close to zero as was humanly possible.

He dashed around the frantic patrons at the table and towards the bouncer that was still reeling from Dean's hard punch, keeping his eyes on his brother's form as it disappeared out the back door. The bouncers were following Dean and both of them had made it outside by the time Sam caught up. The larger one went to grab for Dean again, who was staring at a blue car racing away with a panicked look on his face. Sam intercepted the lunge, throwing his weight against the big man's shoulder and knocking him off balance before he could reach Dean.

The scuffle dragged Dean's attention from the speeding car just in time for him to duck and avoid a swing from the second bouncer, the same one he had hit before. He refrained from striking back as he couldn't afford the delay of getting into a fight with the two large bouncers. It wasn't that he didn't think he and Sam could take them, Dean was confident to the point of being cocky when it came to his fighting skills, it was that he needed to get to the front parking lot and the Impala immediately.

"Wait! Wait!" he shouted, holding his hands up in the air. "I'm sorry, I swear," he spoke as calmly as he could, trying to put the bouncers at ease. "I'm leaving," he placated. "I'm just gonna go round front to my car, okay?"

He noticed Tasha was standing behind the men and was swinging the door shut to avoid nosey patrons from trying to follow the action outside. He nodded to her and Sam and knew that they would both follow his lead without questioning. "We're leaving," he repeated, stepping calmly sideways towards the corner of the building. Sam and Tasha followed suit, Sam also walking backwards with his hands in the air.

The bouncers seemed to be satisfied that the troublemakers were leaving and nodded, standing their ground. "Don't try to come back in," one of them warned sternly.

Dean assured them he wouldn't and as soon as he reached the corner of the building, he dropped his hands and ran for the Impala, Sam and Tasha close on his heels.

Sam used his longer legs to his advantage and reached the driver's door first. Dean ordered him to 'follow that blue Toyota!' as he threw himself into the shotgun seat. Tasha barely had the back door closed as Sam peeled out of the parking lot in the direction the Toyota had gone.

"Is that Sheldon?" he asked, already knowing the answer as they sped down the road in search of the blue car.

Dean just nodded, his eyes scanning the side streets they were speeding past. The road they were on ended abruptly in a tee-junction and he swore out loud when he realized he had no idea which way Sheldon had gone and their chances of catching up with him were slim to none at this point. He had too much of a head start.

"Shit!" he slammed his fist on the Impala's front dash in anger and frustration as Sam shrugged and arbitrarily chose left.

Tasha leaned forward, resting her chin on the back of the seat. "Don't worry, babe," she appeased. "We'll find him sooner or later. He's gotta have family and friends; we'll figure out where he'd hide out."

Dean made a sound that could best be described as a growl. "You don't understand," he grated through gritted teeth. "We need to find him _now_."

"We've got his stash, Dean," Sam reminded his brother. "This stuff's hard to get; he won't be getting any more tonight. We've got time."

"You didn't see his face," Dean shook his head. "He's got more dreamroot... and he plans on using it."

"How do you know?" Sam demanded.

Dean smashed his fist into the dash again and the glove compartment sprang open. In his temper, he slammed it back shut violently and swore, his hands balled into fists and wishing there was something else to hit. "He's got Tasha's glass!" he yelled.

"What?" Sam demanded hoarsely, fear gripping him as he glanced back at Tasha. Her eyes widened in alarm but she quickly covered it up.

Dean exhaled heavily. "That arrogant bastard practically waved it in my face.  We need to find him Sam," he said urgently. His brother responded by giving the Impala's accelerator pedal a firm push. Dean finally turned around to look at the girl in the back. "I'm sorry," he said simply, placing his hand over hers where it rested on the top of the seatback between them. "We'll find him, I promise."

"Hey, don't sweat it," Tasha snorted. "I'm not worried. I just won't go to sleep. It's not like I've never pulled an all nighter before. I can go for days. We've got some time."

Dean's temper flared again as his eyes went back to roving the dark streets around them in search of the blue car. "Why does this feel so goddamn familiar?" he griped, remembering the two days he spent guzzling coffee and Red Bulls when Jeremy had lifted his DNA from a beer bottle. He tried not to think about the fact that they had never actually found Jeremy. The _had_ to find Sheldon.

"Yeah, about that," Tasha ventured, not having been filled in on the whole story yet, "Exactly what happened?"

"I eventually had to go to sleep and Sam took the dreamroot to pop into my dream and ended up smashing Jeremy's head in with a baseball bat," Dean explained simply.

"Inside your dream?" She sounded more curious than scared.

"Yeah," Dean nodded. "See, if you die in a dream, whether you're the walker or the sleeper, you die in real life."

She gave him a thoughtful look. "So we can just do that again," she said with a shrug of her shoulders. "Beats killing him in person and having homicide cops all over it. There'd be no link to us.  This could actually work in our favor."

"No way!" Dean said sternly.

"Why not?"

Sam answered the question. "Dreamwalking's a skill," he explained. "I was lucky, I caught Jeremy off guard. Truth is, the more you do it, the better you get. This guy could have been doing it for months. He's pretty much a god in there."

"Better at what?" Tasha pressed. "Better like how?"

"He controls the dream," Sam elaborated. "He can actually fish around in the sleeper's head and dig out their memories and fears and manipulate the dream to take advantage of those things."

"And you did that in Dean's dream?" she asked, sounding almost amused.

Sam shook his head, taking a sharp right turn in hopes of finding the Toyota on a busier street. "No, I just used what I'd seen in the background info we dug up on Jeremy to make his father appear, but I didn't get into Dean's head. I didn't know how."

Dean swallowed, remembering what he had seen in that very same dream; himself with black eyes. Dean Winchester the demon.

_What he would become._

"Ashley said the girls were all having really, really bad nightmares before Sheldon showed up in them and…..did what he did," Tasha said. "But the nightmares were different for each girl. You think he did that too?"

"Sick fuck was playing with them," Dean snarled.  "Gets off on it."

Tasha sighed. "Well, like I said, we've got two or three days to find him and I doubt it'll take that long. The bartender tonight sounded like he didn't care much for Sheldon – warned me not to get too friendly with him. I'm sure he'll give him up if we lose the Toyota."

"Uh, I think we already lost the Toyota," Sam announced, taking another random turn. "I have no idea which way to go."

They drove aimlessly for a couple of minutes in silence, both brothers searching intently for any sign of the blue car. Tasha suddenly spoke up from the back seat, her voice sounding soft and nervous.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"I feel weird."

"What?" Dean spun around to look at her for a second before his eyes widened as the impact of her words hit him. "What do you mean, weird?" he demanded.

She pushed herself forward in the seat again and Dean noticed she swayed slightly.

"I feel groggy all of a sudden," she admitted apologetically. "I only had one drink – I shouldn't feel this strange."

Dean swore loudly, reaching back over the seat and gripping her shoulder tightly. "Did he drug you?" His mind was reeling with how Sheldon could have possibly slipped something into Tasha's drink. If he had been there and had seen the hunters when they first came in, it was conceivable. He had access to the waitress station behind the bar.

Tasha's eyes were shifting in and out of focus as he watched, his hand still wrapped up in her jacket sleeve. He shook her gently, as much with fear and anger as an attempt to wake her up. She was clearly already trying to fight the effects of whatever she had been given and the struggle to remain alert was being played out on her face. "Stay awake!" Dean barked, waiting for her nod of acknowledgement before turning to look at Sam.

"Dude, you got the dreamroot on you?"

Sam shook his head. "I left it on the table at the motel," he groaned.

"Get back there, now!" Dean ordered sharply. He pushed himself up and crammed his large frame over the bench seat into the back with Tasha, a feat made more difficult with the pain in his injured arm and the swerving of the car as Sam pulled a sharp u-turn.

"What are you gonna do?" Tasha asked, her voice slurring and her eyes starting to show fleeting hints of fear through the fogginess.

"The jerk kinda forced our hand," Dean told her, trying to keep his voice calm.  "If you go under, I'm coming in too. Don't worry, I won't let him touch you." He placed an open palm on either side of her face and forced her to look at him, tapping her cheek gently when her eyes began to drift closed.

"Stay awake, baby," he pleaded. "You have to stay awake."

"Okay," she whispered, gripping his sleeves in an effort to hold herself upright.

"Faster, Sam!" Dean didn't turn to look at his brother as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his flask of holy water. He unscrewed the top and poured it over her face. She sputtered and coughed but her eyes seemed to spring back open as she clung to him. He twisted around and quickly rolled down the window, letting a blast of the cool night air hit her wet face.

"Is there something we can give her?" he practically begged Sam, knowing if anyone knew of an antidote, it would be his genius of a brother.

Sam had been keeping silent but fear and worry had a solid grip on his insides too. He shook his head. "We have no idea what drug he used," he answered, pressing the accelerator pedal down farther as they reached the highway that would take them back to the motel.

"You need to stay awake!" Dean repeated to the girl who was starting to slump in his arms. "Tasha?…Tash?…Tash!"

Her eyes fell closed and her head dropped forward onto his chest. "No, no, no, Tasha," he pleaded, yanking her head up roughly by the hair and prying one of her eyelids open. "Wake up baby, please, stay with me!" he begged, his voice growing hoarse with near panic.

"Oh shit, Sammy," he breathed. "She's out!"

"It's okay," Sam tried to keep his own voice calm. He wasn't used to seeing Dean this close to panic. "We're not that far from the motel."

"You don't understand," Dean rasped, fear putting a sharp edge in his words. "We can't let him do that to her. We can't!" He looked up and caught Sam's worried eyes in the rear view. "Foster dad number six," he blurted, his voice faltering. "He tried…" He let the sentence trail off.

"I get it," Sam assured him. He'd had his suspicions about foster home number six, the only one that Tasha had never mentioned in any of her numerous 'rebellious teenager' stories. He was only mildly surprised she'd told Dean.

_Casual fling, my ass,_ he thought before he searched out Dean's frantic face in the mirror again. "Sheldon's not going to touch her, okay?" the younger Winchester said confidently. And he meant it. He'd die before he let that bastard touch another innocent girl, especially Tasha. So would Dean.

He saw Dean nod and pull the sleeping girl closer to him, still shaking her to try and wake her up. "Hang in there, I'm coming," he heard Dean whisper to her limp form. Whatever drug Sheldon had used, it was a strong one. He thought briefly that maybe they would be okay because surely she wouldn't dream in drug-induced unconsciousness but quickly realized Sheldon would have thought of that. The guy had been doing this so long he could probably create dreams and not just pop into existing ones. All he would need was a lapse in consciousness.

Jesus, how were they going to take him out? Jeremy Frost had been strong and Sam knew he had been mostly lucky. He remembered Bobby asking him afterwards if he'd been able to control the dream for a spell because of his psychic mumbo. He'd said no but in truth, he had no idea. He suspected so but refused to admit that fact since both Bobby and Dean gave him a certain look, a look of wariness and fear, whenever his psychic abilities were mentioned.

He drove the rest of the way in silence, concentrating on the road since the Impala was going well over the speed limit. He skidded to a halt in front of room number twelve and jumped out, running to the motel door to unlock it and get the dreamroot cocktail started.

Dean followed closely behind, carrying Tasha in his arms.  Sam wasn't sure if the wince on his brother's face was from the pain in his arm or from outright fear. 

Dean laid her gently on the closest bed and turned to Sam, who was already carrying a glass of tap water over to the table.  He nodded in approval. Fuck the tea, boiling the water took way too much time. They could just crumble the stuff in cold water. It should work the same way.

Sam started to slice pieces off the chunk of root into the glass with his knife. Dean moved in and wrapped his fingers around the glass in anticipation.

"Uh, Dean?" Sam paused.

"What?" Dean said curtly, nodding at his brother to keep going. He'd need to ingest more dreamroot than the few scrapes Sam had in the glass.

"I should go in," Sam managed.

"Two against one," Dean nodded. "That sounds good."

"No," the younger Winchester corrected. "Just me."

Dean looked up sharply. "What? No freakin' way Sam! Keep slicing!"

"Dean, listen to me," Sam had actually thought this through. "I managed to take control of your dream from Jeremy, remember?"

"Which is exactly what I plan on doing to this prick!" Dean snapped. "Right before I beat him to a pulp and rip his head off."

"No, you don't understand," Sam persisted. "I did that last time but…but I'm not so sure _you_ can."

"Why not?"

Sam swallowed but Tasha didn't have time for him to beat around the bush. "I'm pretty sure it was because of my psychic thing," he admitted. He hated that he was saying it out loud but one glance at the sleeping girl on the bed had instantly removed any thoughts of keeping the secret.

Dean gave him a hard stare but eventually shook his head. "No," he said simply. "I'm going in," he said firmly. "I promised her." He turned around and Sam saw his breath hitch when his eyes fell on Tasha. "I have to," he rasped. "I can't let anything happen to her."

Sam had resumed scraping the root into the glass and he took a deep breath. "Look, Dean, I get it," he assured him without looking up. "I care about her too." He shuddered at how true that statement was. "But if I can't get control of the dream away from Sheldon, then I'm going to need you to do him in from this side of the veil."

Dean gave his brother a confused look.

"Look, we both know I have a better chance on the inside," Sam continued. "You need to find Sheldon in real life and end this." He threw a pointed look at Tasha. "For her sake, let's not put all our eggs in one basket. This gives us two chances at beating him."

He watched Dean's face as he struggled with the decision. Finally, the elder Winchester nodded slowly in reluctant acceptance. Sam knew how hard it was for Dean to give up control and let someone else take the risk, especially Sam. He knew how much Tasha meant to Dean and for him to trust Sam with her safety and possibly her life just went to show how far they had come since that day almost three years ago when two practical strangers had reunited to find their Dad. Dean would never have put something he valued so much in anyone else's hands but Sam's, and Sam knew it. And that was just one more reason he was determined to save the girl they both cared about.

"You save her, you hear me?" Dean said throatily, taking his hand off the glass. He made his way over to the bed and brushed her hair out of her eyes, planting a kiss on her forehead as he yanked out a hair from her head and handed it to Sam, who was sitting down on the edge of the adjacent bed, glass in hand.

"You hang in there, Tash," Dean whispered, leaning back down over her still face. "Sammy's coming to get ya."

He turned to look at his younger brother and gave him a nod that said everything he couldn't put into words.

_Be careful, Sammy._

__Thank-you._ _

_Take care of yourself._

__Save the girl I love._ _

 

Sam downed the glass and fell back on the empty bed. Dean stared at the two of them for a few seconds before grabbing the keys and leaving the room.

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	8. Chapter 8

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Sam gulped the foul-tasting water down, scrunching his eyes shut in an attempt to help control his gag reflex. By the time he opened them, Dean was gone and he was alone in the room.

_Wait a minute…_

Dean couldn't move that fast. And Tasha was gone too, the adjacent bed empty and unrumpled.

_Had the dreamroot worked? Was this a dream?_

His question was answered by a cry from just outside the motel door that was unmistakably Tasha's. He was on his feet in an instant and reached the door in three of his giant strides, yanking it violently open.

It wasn't the motel parking lot on the other side. Instead, Sam found himself standing in the front door of a spacious, straw-built beach house, the gentle rumble of the ocean's waves crashing in the background and the warmth of the bright sun on his back. It was a nice, homey place, with lots of tropical plants and wicker furniture. There was a doll in a pink dress propped up on the couch next to a stuffed donkey. Sam barely noticed these things, however, as his eyes fell immediately on Tasha, who was crouching next to the bloody remains of a woman lying on the straw mat in the middle of the floor.

"Mommy! Mommy!" she was sobbing, and it occurred to Sam she sounded young, almost childlike, though she still looked her real age of twenty-four. He stepped inside the room towards her but stopped short when a deep voice snapped his attention away from the heart wrenching scene before him.

"Well, well," said the voice and Sam's fists clenched when he noticed Sheldon Weike standing at the edge of the room. "I expected the other dude," the dreamwalker continued in an almost jovial tone. "I got the impression she was with him." He glanced towards Tasha and back to Sam with a smirk.

"You bastard," was all Sam's blinding anger allowed him to mutter as he lunged for the dreamwalker. His fist swung too far when Sheldon vanished into thin air and Sam stumbled to regain his balance. The student reappeared instantaneously a few feet away, his chest heaving with sadistic laughter. The hunter immediately swung again but Sheldon Star-Trek'd his way out of range once more.

"Your pugilistic prowess might win you fights in redneck bars," he gloated. "But that won't do you any good in here - with _me."_

"You're not God, Sheldon," Sam seethed, realizing he was going to have to take control of the dream to have any chance against this guy. He wasn't sure what to do but he started by trying to focus on getting a mental grip on the surroundings. His concentration was interrupted by the sound of a man coming up the steps outside to the front door.

"Erin, honey, we're home!" the newcomer called cheerfully as the tip of his shadow appeared in the doorway. "You shoulda seen Tash," he called with a laugh. "Three days in Yosemite and she was rock-climbing like a pro." Fair-haired and blue-eyed, the man in his early thirties looked nothing like Tasha but Sam had no doubts that this was Brian Malick, her father. The young hunter saw the man's smile drop into a gaping expression of horror when he noticed his daughter kneeling on the floor next to what remained of his wife.

"Nooo!" he cried, dropping the travel bag he carried and rushing forward, wrapping his arms around Tasha's sobbing form and pulling her away from the bloody corpse. He seemed oblivious to the two other men in the room.

Sam recognized the emotion that was displayed on the man's face. He had experienced that very same anguish himself less than three years ago when he had seen the girl he loved burning on the ceiling above him. He had a personal understanding of what his own father had gone through after Mary Winchester had been killed before his eyes and felt a sharp pang of sympathy for this man, even if he wasn't real.

"You bastard," Sam repeated to Sheldon, again trying to seize control of the dream but having difficulty connecting to anything. It wasn't like he had any real experience at this; he'd only done it once and wasn't sure how he had even managed it then.

"Ho-hoh!" Sheldon laughed in a mocking tone. "Are you seriously trying to take the dream from me? Let me give you a hint, you pathetic amateur. You need something to work with, something specific – you're grabbing at emptiness."

Sam realized Sheldon was right. He knew nothing about the cocky bastard to pull on; with Jeremy he'd had a mental image of the guy's abusive father from the mugshot he and Dean had dug up. He decided to shift his concentration instead to Tasha. After all, it was her dream. Surely he could end the dream the same way Sheldon had started it. "Leave her alone, you twisted fuck," he seethed through gritted teeth.

Sheldon laughed again. "Leave her alone? I'm not even doing anything yet," he gloated. "This is pretty much a straight memory. Usually I have to poke around for something even remotely dark enough to have fun with," he pointed to Tasha who had her head buried in her father's chest, "but this chick's head is a freaking buffet of fucked-up shit!"

Sam reached out with his mind towards Tasha's, having no idea how he knew what to do. He identified the exact moment he got inside when a rush of emotions hit him that he instinctively knew weren't his. He drew back with a start but pushed back in as soon as he figured out that the memories in her head must be sorted or distinguished by emotion. There was a crazy mass of swirling thoughts and feelings bombarding his consciousness, the dizzying speed and intensity of them turning his stomach and making him nauseous. He flailed around for a few seconds in her mind before he managed to slow them down and start to identify them individually. A bout of fear struck him, followed by an uncontrollable urge to laugh, then the pain of extreme cold, then a sense of fun and happiness.

He quickly latched on to the fun rush as it hit him, pulling at it and somehow hauling it to the forefront of Tasha's mind. Everything around him began to shimmer and he closed his eyes for a second, opening them when he suddenly felt a light breeze on his face.

He was standing on the top of a mountain. The vegetation and astounding view of a remote village a mile below suggested a third world country and Sam guessed Peru or Chile. There was a narrow, rocky path and he heard Tasha laugh as she floated up into view. It took a second for Sam to realize she was riding a donkey. Her father appeared on another right behind her.

"Well I'll be damned, Gigantor's a quick study," Sheldon quipped from where he stood fifteen feet away, the arrogance in his voice grating on Sam's nerves.

"You just wait and see what I can do," Sam threatened, balling his fist and getting ready for a fight.

"Hey Sam," Tasha greeted him cheerily, pulling the rope around her donkey's neck to bring him to a halt a few feet from the hunter. "What are you doing here?"

"You on a hunt, Winchester?" her father chimed in, addressing Sam as if they'd known each other for years.

"Uh, no Sir," Sam stammered, thrown a little by the fact that they could see him. They hadn't noticed him in the previous dream. He'd forgotten how freaky dreams could be.

"You ever been in Peru, Sam?" Tasha continued, smiling as if everything was normal. "There's a little village up the top of this mountain where they make charms that can ward off all sorts of supernatural nasties, including vampires." She looked over at Sheldon and squinted. "Who's your friend?"

Sheldon laughed. "Your worst nightmare, bitch."

Suddenly the fresh air was gone, as were the mountain, the donkeys, and the stunning view. Sam cursed himself for not keeping control long enough to take out Sheldon and reached out to find Tasha's mind again to see if he could pull another fun dream. As he reached out with his thoughts, however, all he found was chaos and was knocked off his feet with a sudden blast of mental force.

"Nice try, grasshopper," he heard Sheldon echo in the distance as he opened his eyes and took in his new surroundings.

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Dean deduced that if Sheldon had drugged Tasha, then the prick was planning on taking the dreamroot soon and therefore couldn't be that far away. Since he would surely know not to go home, he must have somewhere else he could go to sleep. A friend's place maybe, or a relative's. He called Professor Kogen to see what she could find in the University's files but they had ' _no family_ ' listed under 'emergency contact'. His next option was the family who rented out the basement apartment to the bastard.

He pulled the Impala up to the curb and shut her off, observing the house for a few seconds before getting out. It was just as it had been an hour ago when Tasha had gone to the door and asked about Sheldon. All the lights downstairs were off and the colorful flickering of the TV could be seen through the big bay window upstairs. He threw his suit jacket on over his t-shirt, not wanting to waste the time to fully change, and strolled boldly up the walk.

A man in his mid to late forties answered his sharp knock on the door, presumably the father of the household. Dean flashed an FBI badge that identified him as Special Agent Bonham and explained that he needed to find Sheldon Weike immediately. The man admitted that Sheldon lived downstairs but that a girl had stopped by earlier and Sheldon hadn't been home then. They hadn't seen him since.

A woman Dean assumed was the man's wife came up behind the man, curious to know what the FBI wanted with Sheldon because he was 'such a nice young man.' Dean stifled a snort. "We just need to ask him a few questions, ma'am," he said politely. "But we need to find him now." A teenage girl poked her head around the corner just down the hall behind her parents and Dean spoke up so she could hear him as well.

"He must have some friends or someone that he could be visiting?" he pressed. "He can't spend all his time in his apartment."

"I'm sorry, I don't know of anywhere," the man said apologetically.

"Sometimes he stays at the school," the girl spoke up, still just peeking around the corner. "Sometimes he stays there all night."

"What was that?" Dean asked her directly. "Where at the school?"

"Probably in one of the dorms," the man shrugged.

"No, he hates the kids at the dorms," the girl continued, growing slightly bolder and taking a few steps down the hallway. "He says they're all douchebag jocks and snotty bitches."

"Chelsea!" her mother admonished, giving Dean an embarrassed smile.

"No, please," Dean waved a hand to dismiss the mother's rebuke. "Chelsea, where at the school?" he repeated.

She shrugged. "I don't know, I'm sorry.

The family had no more specific information so Dean left, swallowing his anger and fear long enough to thank them politely and tell them to call him right away of they saw or heard from their tenant. The college was a huge campus and he knew there was little chance he'd find Sheldon without narrowing his search a little further. He could think of one more place to try but it wasn't going to be easy.

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It was nighttime and it was dark. Sam was on his knees in a building that seemed old and abandoned, perhaps a warehouse or a factory. It was cold, very cold, so he figured it must be winter. He could hear city traffic in the distance but there was no sign of Sheldon or Tasha.

He heard running footsteps of a person – no, more than one person - down the hall and walked quickly towards the noise. He rounded a corner to see a young teenage girl and Brian Malick exiting the hallway through a door just up ahead. He recognized the girl as Tasha and called out to her but she didn't seem to hear. He started running after them and when he followed through the steel door he found himself in a large industrial room filled with old assembly line equipment. He followed Tasha and her father as they dashed around giant pieces of machinery towards the exterior door on the other end of the room. Sam could tell they were fleeing someone or something because they both kept stealing terrified looks behind them, though neither seemed to see Sam.

Just as he almost caught up to them, Tasha's eyes finally connected with his. "Run Sam!" she cried without slowing down, beckoning for him to follow. "He's coming!"

"Who?" Sam yelled back, trying to gain control of the dream but finding it impossible to pull together any decent measure of concentration while he was running. "Tasha, stop for a sec!" he shouted.

She let out a short scream as she and her father came to an abrupt halt, the path in front of them suddenly blocked by a menacing-looking man with an extra row of teeth protruding from his upper gums. He was a handsome guy in his mid twenties and of obvious Hispanic ethnicity and it didn't take Sam more than an instant to surmise this was Diego, the vampire with a grudge that had been hunting Tasha's family for well over a century. It made sense her worst nightmares would include him.

Brian Malick drew a large, twelve inch blade from inside his bulky jacket and inserted himself quickly between the vampire and his daughter. Sam came up to stand next to the young girl, hauling her backwards with a yank on her sleeve. She tried to pull away from him when her father lunged for Diego and a violent fight broke out between them. Sam gripped her arm tightly and tried to get inside her head again. He needed a calm dream again so he could concentrate on killing Sheldon and not have to worry about Tasha being killed in the meantime. If Tasha died in her dream, she died in real life.

"Let me go!" she cried, trying to shake him loose. The hunter noticed she had drawn her knife. In real life, Tasha _always_ had a knife on her, a blade she kept permanently coated in dead man's blood. It didn't surprise him she had it in her dreams too. He simply tightened his grip and pushed his mind forward.

He was met with nothing but chaos and for the second time in a row felt a painful mental blast. His vision exploded but he recovered to see Sheldon standing a few feet away with an annoyed look on his face.

"Nu-unh," the student clucked. "This one's going to be good; I'm not letting you ruin my fun this time."

"You sick freak!" Sam seethed, letting Tasha go in favor of lunging for Sheldon. As he closed the gap between them, he pictured a machete in his hand and didn't even falter in his step when he suddenly felt the solid handle and unmistakable weight of one in his fist.

_He was learning – this dream thing wasn't so hard_ , he thought to himself as he charged forward.

He swung the machete in a smooth downward arc aimed at Sheldon's head but found the blade sharply repelled by a large metal object that suddenly appeared on his opponent's raised arm. It was a shield, he realized, a freaking medieval knight's shield! The clang of metal on metal sent a jolt up his arm and he actually lost his grip on the weapon and it clattered noisily to the concrete floor. He started to envision his 9mm in his hand but heard Sheldon laughing his creepy, insidious laugh before he even felt it appear. The shorter man flickered a few times before solidifying ten feet farther back, the shield gone.

Sam raised his gun and fired rapidly straight at the bastard, aiming center mass. He knew his marksmanship was near impeccable and there was no way he had missed, but Sheldon never flinched.

"In here I'm bulletproof, asshole," Sheldon taunted. "I'm whatever I want to be, actually, because this is _my_   world. Why don't you just sit down and enjoy the show?"

Sam felt a blow to the stomach, one he never saw coming, and saw the shadowy shape of Sheldon appear before him as he was knocked to the floor. The figure disappeared just as quickly and the hunter was trying to decide what to envision in retaliation when he was distracted by a girl's scream. He spun around, remembering his top priority was to keep Tasha alive. She was almost at the outside door but Diego had just thrown her father through the air, slamming him hard into a large piece of machinery and Sam's heart lurched when he noticed the metal rod protruding from the blond man's shoulder.

"Tash, run!" Brian was yelling, struggling to pull himself off the metal spike. "Run! He's not after me, run damnit!"

Tasha hesitated, anguished indecision plaguing her young face. She still held the blood-coated knife and gave the vampire a fearful glance before meeting her father's pleading gaze.

"Please," Brian rasped, begging his daughter to go. "Run!"

"No," she said, turning towards Diego instead, knife held in an offensive position before her. Sam knew he couldn't reach her in time and in his panic, he forced himself inside her head. He felt the blast coming again and recognized it as Sheldon's doing but this time he swept it aside with a mental projection of his own, clearing the way to Tasha's thoughts again. He sifted through them quickly and grasped one he recognized as peace with hints of love in its peripheral. That would do nicely.

"Bastard!" he heard Sheldon curse as the factory and Diego melted away around them.

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	9. Chapter 9

 

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Sam found himself standing in a grassy field on a warm night, a thousand stars gleaming overhead in the cloudless sky. Trying to determine what the dream was about, he spun around to find the Impala resting peacefully in the grass behind him. He heard a gasp and moved around to the front to see Dean and Tasha lying on the spacious hood. Tasha had just woken up with a start, no doubt from the nightmare she and Sam had just left, and Dean was asking her if she was alright. They were both resting back against the Impala's front windshield, Tasha snuggled into the crook of Dean's arm, and Sam took another look around the field, recognition dawning on him.

This was the field they had stopped at about two weeks ago. They had been making their way across the country to a new hunt and Sam had been surprised when Dean had pulled over suddenly, claiming they needed a break from driving. He had coasted into a desolate field, popped the lids off three beers, and seated himself of the hood. It wasn't an unheard of thing for Dean to do, but it had only ever been done when he and Sam were alone. They had spent many nights sitting quietly under the stars near some nameless stretch of road, enjoying each other's silence.

Sam's first reaction that night had been surprise, followed quickly by an irrational feeling of intrusion for the brunette's presence. That sentiment had only been fleeting, however, and sitting there in the starlight with both Tasha and Dean had soon felt strangely natural. He had been comfortable and at peace for the four hours they lay there in virtual silence. Tasha had not questioned their reason for stopping and Sam had come to the realization that maybe there were other people out there that could truly understand the Winchester brothers; maybe they weren't so alone and cut-off and different from the rest of the world after all.

The dream version of that night was slightly different than he remembered. Tasha had not woken up two weeks ago and Sam had been lying on the hood also, the slim girl sleeping soundly between the brothers well into the peaceful night. Right now she was quietly assuring the elder Winchester that she was fine and that it had just been a bad dream. Sam watched as Dean kissed her head and pulled her in a little closer before settling himself back on his classic baby's windshield.

Sam looked around for Sheldon. If he could find him now, he could concentrate on taking him out knowing Tasha was safe in Dean's hands.

He didn't see anything out of the ordinary in the field. There were a few cows asleep across the fence at the far end and the silhouette of the occasional bat zipped past the bright sphere of the moon above them. He concentrated on the large deciduous tree to the right, figuring if Sheldon was nearby, he had to be hiding in the dark shadows of the tree.

He took a step towards it when he heard the commotion from the car behind him. He turned just in time to see Sheldon's arm swinging downward, the knife in his grasp sinking deep into his brother's chest.

"DEAN!" he cried in horrified reaction. His logic followed a few heartbeats behind, reminding him that was dream-Dean and that his real brother was fine, but those few heartbeats were wrought with panic and fear. Tasha had let out a startled cry of surprise and shock before drawing her own knife and slashing at Sheldon over Dean's gasping form.

Sam raced over towards the car but Sheldon vanished before Tasha's knife could make contact. She only looked around frantically for a brief second before her attention returned to Dean, who was clutching at the bleeding wound in his chest and making sickening gargling sounds, his eyes unfocused and heavy.

"No, no, Dean, no," she pleaded, pressing her hands over the wound. She was sitting up on the Impala's hood and Sam could honestly _feel_ the pain in her voice as she pleaded with Dean to stay alive. "Oh God, stay with me Dean, please, hold on okay?"

Sam came to a skidding halt next to the car in the exact spot Sheldon had been standing. He tried to get a bead on the other dreamwalker with his mind but couldn't sense anything and had no idea how to find him. He tried to avoid looking down at his brother but simply couldn't help himself. He was greeted with the sight of the life leaving Dean's green eyes and his head lolling sideways onto Tasha's thigh.

"No, pleeeease!" Tasha wailed in anguish, pulling the dead hunter's head into her lap. Tears were streaming down her face and she didn't seem to even notice Sam was there. "Dean, no no, not you too, please don't die on me!" Her body was heaving with desperate sobs and she lowered her face down to touch her forehead to Dean's lifeless one, the elder Winchester still sprawled unmoving on the Impala's hood. "Please," her voice broke into a whisper. "Everybody dies. Everybody's dead. Not you too, please."

Sam swallowed, a hard lump forming in his throat. He was about to reach into her head and change the dream again to save her from her suffering but decided against it. In their last encounter with dreamroot, Dean had managed to convince Bobby that he was dreaming and Bobby had taken control of his own dream. If he could convince Tasha, maybe she could help him get the better of Sheldon. It was clear by now that Sheldon was the more skilled dreamwalker and Sam needed all the help he could get. Because of the drug, he knew she wouldn't be able to wake herself up but each dream seemed to be getting progressively worse so there was no point in continuing to hop into new ones.

"Tasha," he said, placing a hand gently on her shoulder to get her attention. "Tasha!"

She looked up and Sam saw the second bout of sorrow that hit her when she recognized him. This new wave of pain was directed at him, _for_   him, because, as far as she knew, Sam had just seen his brother bleeding out before his eyes.

"Tasha, this isn't real," he said, his voice hitching at the depths of pain in her eyes. God how it twisted and ripped at his heart to see her like that. It was deeply disturbing for him to be standing this close to his brother's dead body, especially considering he had been spending the last eleven months dreading this very thing, but to her this was real. The extent of her feelings for the elder Winchester was excruciatingly clear in this moment. Dream or not, her anguish was very real and the raw emotion on her face was tearing Sam up inside.

"I'm sorry Sam," she croaked, her eyes filled with pain and pity. She clearly thought Sam was in denial. "I don't know what happened. There was this…this guy and…and…" she choked up and stopped talking, still cradling Dean's lifeless head in her blood-covered hands, her body once again wracked with heaving sobs.

"No Tasha," Sam pressed, cupping her face in both his hands and catching a falling tear with a gentle stroke of his thumb across her cheek. "Remember dreamroot? The case we're working on? This is just a dream. Your dream."

She didn't look convinced but Sam saw a tiny glimmer of hope brighten her pretty features.

"You're dreaming," he repeated more urgently. "And that," he gestured downwards without actually letting his eyes fall on the horrifying sight, "that isn't really Dean. He's fine. He's alive."

"Dean's not dead?" she whispered, her focus finally shifting from the dead Winchester to the live one standing next to where she sat on the black metal surface that was now slick with Dean's blood.

"No, no, he's not," Sam nodded, holding her face up so she had to lock eyes with him for a moment. "But Tasha, this is your dream and I need your help."

She nodded meekly, still looking uncertain.

"I need you to try and take control of it, okay? Remember Sheldon Weike? Well he's in here somewhere and he's going to try turn this into a nightmare."

Tasha glanced down at Dean. "I think he already succeeded," she said with an impressive amount of sarcasm, the barest hint of a smile forming at the edges of her mouth.

Sam managed a smile. _Good. This was the Tasha he needed_. People in dreams often didn't act like the real versions of themselves did so he was heartened to see what resembled the Tasha he knew looking at him now. She had proven herself to be quick on her feet and able to handle hairy situations without panicking on several occasions over the past two months; Sam had truly been impressed with both her bravery and her fighting ability. She couldn't fight as well as Ruby and her demon strength but she could certainly hold her own. In fact, the first night they'd met her, she had come very close to slicing Dean's neck open with that blood-coated knife of hers.

"Yeah, you're right about that," he agreed with a chuckle.

"Okay, now I'm just confused," came a deep voice from behind Sam and he spun sharply to find Sheldon standing there.

"Is she with you or is she with the dead guy?" the dreamwalker continued in a mocking tone.

"My brother's not dead," Sam fired back. "In fact, he's about to waste your real self any minute now so you might want to just wake yourself up."

Sheldon didn't look worried. In fact, he casually strolled up to the rear door of the car on the driver's side, not five feet from where Sam was standing, and leaned over to peer inside the Chevy. When he looked back over to Sam, he was laughing again.

"Well, _now_   I get it," he taunted, grinning viciously.

Sam didn't need to look inside the car to know what Sheldon had seen. The car was rocking, actually _rocking_ , and he could hear his own grunts and groans of pleasure intermingled with his brother's, both almost drowned out by the screams of ecstasy he recognized as those Tasha had gifted the brothers with last night when they had double-teamed her in the back seat.

He glanced behind him to find the Impala's hood empty and realized he was now standing on the edge of the road and not in a grassy field. _Damn, that had been a smooth transition – this guy was good._

"So you brothers share everything, huh?" Sheldon snickered. "Keep it in the family."

"That's not how it is." For the first time since the incident, Sam felt dirty and ashamed and felt like he had to defend the three of them, even if it was to this lowlife who would soon be dead. This wasn't some sick, twisted love triangle; it was his brother and the woman his brother loved. There was honor and respect and friendship all round. There was nothing wrong with what they had done, with what _he_ had done... was there?

Sheldon glanced back in the window, a clear patch in the fogged glass appearing for him like magic. "I can assure you, you won't be partaking in the festivities tonight," he said, a sharp edge in his voice as he narrowed his eyes at Sam. "But," he added, grinning again as Tasha's screams rose in pitch such that it was obvious she was having one hell of an orgasm, "I am in for a fucking good time. She's a screamer." He licked his lips and threw another hungry look into the car. "I just _love_ a screamer."

He looked back to Sam who had just conjured up a baseball bat and was swinging it as hard as he could at Sheldon's head. Sheldon Star-Trek'd backwards, just out of reach, and retaliated with a flick of his wrist that sent a blast of force at Sam, hurdling him twenty feet backwards onto the hard asphalt.

"Just call me Neo," he jeered as the hunter rolled out of the way of an oncoming vehicle that had just suddenly appeared hammering towards him. "Now, let's get this party started."

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Dean pulled into the quiet, back staff parking lot of the bar. He knew there was no way he wouldn't be recognized if he went in the front door as he had caused quite the ruckus not that long ago. He waited quietly for a couple of minutes and was rewarded for his uncharacteristic patience. The young, red-headed dishwasher came outside, closing the door behind him and lighting up a cigarette. Dean seized the opportunity.

"Hey there," he greeted the kid amicably.

"Hey," the kid mumbled, returning the greeting with a lot less vigor.

"Listen," Dean decided to get right to the point. "You know Sheldon Weike?"

The redhead snorted. "Fucker showed up then left before his shift started," he griped. "Now I'm stuck doin' a double."

"Yeah, guy's an asshole," Dean agreed. "Listen, I really need to find him. He's not at home – you got any idea where he could be?"

"No fucking clue," the kid shrugged. Clearly he wasn't in the greatest of moods and Dean decided to move on to the real reason he came here.

"Say, you wouldn't do me a favor, would ya?" he said hopefully.

"What's that?"

"I need to speak to the bartender, the guy with the curly hair. Any chance you could go ask him to come out here for a sec?"

"Why don't you go get him yourself?"

"I'd rather not," Dean answered evasively. "Come on man, it's important." _You have no fucking clue just **how** important, _ he thought.

The kid stuck his hand out, palm up. "Nothing in life is free, man," he shrugged.

Dean cursed under his breath but pulled out his wallet and slapped a twenty in the greedy fingers. They beckoned for more and he gritted his teeth as he handed over another twenty. "You better get him out here," he warned in a no-nonsense tone.

The kid butted out and pocketed his cash as he stepped back inside. Dean's forty bucks proved to be money well-spent for less than two minutes later, the friendly bartender who had warned Tasha not to get too close to Sheldon appeared in the doorway, a curious look on his face.

"Hey, you're the guy who went crazy earlier," he grinned, clearly recognizing Dean.

"Yeah, 'fraid so. Look, do you remember a girl who asked you about Sheldon Weike?"

The guy's forehead creased slightly in thought. "Good lookin' brunette in a white top?"

Dean nodded. "That's the one. See, she's gone off with Sheldon somewhere and I really need to find him. And her."

The bartender winced. "Dude, Sheldon is seriously creepy. I told her to stay away from him. But whatever issues you and your woman are having," he raised his hands, "that's none of my business, bro."

"She's my sister," Dean lied quickly. "And she's drunk – really, really drunk. And I just want to make sure she gets home safely. Please. He's not at home and somebody told me Sheldon sometimes stays at the school. I just need to know where."

The guy gave him a long, thoughtful look. "Know what?" he said finally. "I sure as hell wouldn't want my sister drunk and alone with that headcase. He's probably taken her to the Psyche Ward lounge."

"The psyche ward? A mental hospital?"

"No, man," the guy grinned. "The Philosophy and Psychiatry departments have their own wing in the Greenwood Building on campus. There's a lounge in the basement that's supposed to be for the profs and the TA's but I know Sheldon's got a key and he hangs out there a lot. There'll be nobody there this late so he just might try to sneak a drunk girl in there."

"Thanks dude," Dean gushed, giving the guy an appreciative slap on the arm. "Seriously, thank-you." He turned away and headed quickly towards his car.

 _'Just hang in there you two,_ ' he said under his breath to both Sam and Tasha. ' _I've almost got him.'_

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Sam felt the dream changing again only this time, something was trying to keep him out of the new surroundings. He felt a force, for lack of a better explanation, pushing him roughly towards something he could only describe as awakeness. He felt the dream world slipping away from him and, with a desperate lunge, reached out and grabbed on to it for all he was worth. It seemed to work because he found himself in a cozy living room, daylight streaming in through the open curtains.

He looked up to see Sheldon standing in the doorway to the kitchen with a furious look on his face. "You're really starting to piss me off!"

"I'm just getting started," Sam bluffed, not sure if he even stood a chance of beating this guy. He glanced around, his eyes searching for Tasha and wondering what this nightmare had in store for the undeserving, tortured girl.

Sheldon must have noticed his search for he let out a snort. "She's upstairs in her room," he offered. "I decided to give her a familiar setting for the best sex she's ever gonna have."

"You think raping innocent girls makes you a man?!" Sam's voice rose in pitch as his wealth of anger was released at the callous comment. "It just makes you a sick, twisted freak! It's pathetic! Why don't you prove you're a man by taking on somebody your own size on a level playing field?" His hands were clenched into fists of rage. "Me and you, right here, right now! We can leave Tasha out of this!"

"You're such a boor," Sheldon wrinkled his nose in unimpressed disgust. "You actually think you're my equal in here?" He waved his arms around the room. "Do you even recognize this place?"

Sam's look must have betrayed his answer in the negative.

"I didn't think so," Sheldon continued. "You can't even see in her head. I bet all you get is a mass of swirling emotions. Have you just been grabbing at them wildly?" He laughed with icy calm. "Now who's pathetic? Let me enlighten you. This," he gestured around the room again, "is foster home number six."

Sam's heart skipped a beat in recognition of two things. Firstly, that this was the abusive foster home Tasha never talked about. The sick bastard had brought her here of all places to rape her. Secondly, that Sheldon knew all of this. That when he entered Tasha's head, he could see exactly what memory he was pulling out, including details, and would therefore know a lot more about both Tasha and the dream than Sam did, putting the hunter at a serious disadvantage.

Two cops were suddenly standing in the foyer and a man was being carried outside on a stretcher by paramedics. The policemen watched as the injured man passed them and carried on their loud conversation as if Sam and Sheldon weren't there. It was loud enough that anyone upstairs could definitley hear it.

" _The girl claims he tried to rape her. As if! Jim, try to rape one of his foster kids? No way! Can you believe that? He's a cop, for crying out loud! No cop in our precinct rapes little girls, that much I do know. Who does she think she is?"_

" _What do you expect? Have you seen her record? Appeared out of nowhere a year and a half ago – no ID, nothing – carrying a knife covered in human blood."_

" _Yeah, I saw it. She's not even sixteen and she's been busted seven times carrying a concealed weapon. Why do you think none of the foster homes'll keep her?"_

" _Well, poor Jim shoulda sent her packing too. If he wasn't such a nice guy, he wouldn't have a four inch blade sticking out of his gut right now."_

As fascinated as Sam was with the insight into Tasha's childhood, the implications of what Sheldon was showing him had nothing to do with the brunette upstairs. The guy was showing off. That he could see this much detail from his foray into Tasha's head just emphasized how outmatched the hunter was.

"See how much fun this can be when you get the whole story?" Sheldon gloated. "A little push here or a little tweak there and I can manipulate any memory into someone's worst nightmare. But if you can't make any sense of what's in the dreamer's head," he scolded, wagging a finger at Sam, "then you don't know what to expect."

A large shape suddenly appeared to Sam's right and he barely caught sight of it in his peripheral with enough time to duck the savage blow it aimed at his head. He retreated backwards a few steps to assess the situation and saw that it was one of the Rawheads that he, Dean, and Tasha had encountered last month in North Dakota.

He jumped back again to avoid the beast's next swing. Sheldon threw him a wave and started up the stairs. _Towards Tasha_ , Sam realized. "If the room's a rockin, don't come knockin!" the student jeered as he reached the top and headed down the hallway towards her room.

Sam spun to face the Rawhead, realizing that Sheldon must have pulled it from Tasha's memory. This meant that, as in North Dakota, there was a good chance he was going to get surprised by the sudden appearance of a second Rawhead. He had suffered bruised ribs and a nasty concussion from these two monsters when he had faced them in real life and was damned of he was going to go through that again.

A slow smile spread across Sam's face as he realized Sheldon's own arrogance and need to brag was actually going to help the hunter out of this situation. Knowing there were two ahead of time, he wasn't going to get caught off guard again. He envisioned a Taser in his right hand and fired at the first Rawhead. It was still convulsing with an enraged roar when the second one appeared, which he calmly shot with the second Taser gun he created from thin air in his left hand.

He looked down at the two bodies with a satisfied smirk as he stepped over them, thinking to himself how good he was getting at this. He had almost reached the stairs when a third Rawhead grabbed him from behind and threw him across the room.

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	10. Chapter 10

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Sam hit the wall with a hard smack before falling to the floor. Winded and acutely aware of the throbbing pain coursing through his body, he staggered to his feet before the Rawhead could strike him. He 'created' another Taser, firing at the beast as it stormed towards him and watching it shake and convulse with a vengeful sense of satisfaction.

Then he noticed another behind it, and three more behind that one.

"Shit," was all he managed to articulate as he pictured another Taser and moved to the side so he wasn't backed up against the wall and had room to maneuver. He fired at the closest, immediately making himself yet another Taser and firing again, but they were coming too fast. There were now six still on their feet and one of them got past his assembly line of Tasers and dealt him a sharp blow to the face.

He felt himself hit the floor even before the stinging pain in his jaw registered. His hunter's instincts made him roll quickly to the side and back onto his feet. He backed up quickly as the entire hoarde (flock? pack? posse? he had no idea what the correct terminology was) was now advancing on him, spreading around for a more coordinated attack than he had thought they were capable of.

Goddamnit…dream Rawheads seemed to be smarter than the real things. Then a thought struck him. _Dream_ Rawheads. He was too used to fighting the normal way, the _awake_ way and he had just followed his natural habits and reactions. Fists and material weapons. He narrowed his eyes and concentrated on the advancing beasts, trying to picture something non-threatening in their place. He winced at what came to mind but stuck with it, pushing the projection outward.

In the blink of an eye, all six live Rawheads plus the six dead ones on the floor suddenly turned into tiny, fluffy white rabbits. Sam breathed a sigh of relief as he looked around the room at the cute balls of fur hopping about harmlessly. He immediately decided, however, that this was something he was never going to mention to his brother in fear of endless hours of ridicule.

Yelling coming from upstairs snapped his attention back to the task at hand and he sprinted back towards the stairs, trying not to tromp on any of the rabbits in his haste. It was Tasha's voice he could hear and she was shouting a stream of curse words that would have made John Winchester flinch. Taking the steps three at a time, he reached the closed door between himself and the racket in seconds. It was locked and he unconsciously reverted to his 'awake' tactics and shouldered it open.

He was just in time to see Tasha hit the far wall and drop to the floor. A blanket of anger and rage fell over him and he strode over to where Sheldon stood, grabbing his shoulder and twisting him around to face him. The student did seem surprised to see Sam there but his face showed more anger than anything else. As his fist connected with the man's large nose, Sam glanced down and noticed the knife embedded in Sheldon's shoulder.

He snickered. He'd have thought that with all of Sheldon's poking around in Tasha's head he would have known about her skill with a blade.

Sheldon went down with the punch but vanished as he hit the floor. Sam spared a glance towards Tasha, who was picking herself off the carpet, a defiant and determined look on her face. He was grateful she looked her real age of twenty-four again this time round. "You okay?" he asked quickly, looking around the room for Sheldon.

She nodded. She was standing by the dresser and Sam noticed a picture tucked under the wooden border. It was of her father and an attractive dark-haired woman that he vaguely recognized as her mother from the bloody corpse he had seen in the first dream. Apart from that, the room was pretty bare considering it was the room of a teenage girl. The only personal touch was a Creed poster on the far wall. It seemed Tasha had always lived ready to run, just like he and Dean had.

"You remember this is just a dream, right?" he asked her.

"What are you talking about, Sam? Did you get hit on the head or something?" She gave him a genuinely concerned look.

Sam sighed. Apparently a new dream meant a new train of thought for the dreamer. He was about to start explaining the dreamroot all over again but Sheldon suddenly rematerialized behind him, the hunter's only warning being Tasha's shout of "Behind you!"

He spun around but didn't have enough time to escape the shot Sheldon fired from the twelve-gauge shotgun he now held in his hands. Sam felt the blast hit his chest and knew he had fallen to the floor but everything else seemed to be a swirling mass of confusion and pain for a few seconds. He could hear Tasha calling his name and clung to her voice to bring some focus back on the surroundings. He found her crouched next to him and her attention seemed to be centered on his chest. He looked down to see blood, a lot of blood.

 _Shit, **his** blood_. _The bastard had shot him_.

"Take that you persistent piece of shit!" Sheldon snarled at him as he came up behind Tasha. Sam could barely breathe, never mind move, and watched helplessly as the dreamwalker grabbed the girl by the hair and dragged her away from where Sam lay. The hunter was choking, the coppery tang of his blood in his mouth. His sight was fuzzy and he was losing strength quickly as the blood seeped out of the holes in his chest. A panicked feeling started to encroach on his rational thought. Tasha was putting up a fight against Sheldon but he seemed to have inhuman strength, apparently another talent he'd picked up in his months of dreamwalking. Sam did notice, however, that the knife was gone and there was no sign of the wound in his shoulder.

Sheldon could heal himself, he realized. Well, if Sheldon could do it, so could he. He _had_ to because he was useless to Tasha just lying here dying on the floor.

And he was dying. He knew it had been a fatal shot the instant he had seen the mess his chest was in. He hadn't forgotten that if he died in a dream, he died in real life. Sam pictured Dean returning to the motel room to find him dead and the thought of his brother's despair coupled with Tasha's cries of both anger and pain helped refocus his mind.

In the real world it would have been a fatal shot but in here, anything was possible.

He tried to concentrate on his chest, picturing it whole again. It was a feat not easily accomplished with the huge and disturbing distraction of Tasha losing the battle to Sheldon's superior strength as he threw her violently down on the bed. Desperation began to fog Sam's thoughts as he strained to fix his wound and he didn't seem to be getting anywhere. It just wasn't working.

He thought of when Sheldon had shifted from the threesome-dream to this one, how he had tried to push Sam towards awakeness, and decided to try for that instead. If he didn't wake up soon, he was a dead man. He shifted his focus towards the place that felt like the edge of the dream, the place he had avoided the last time. He found it and realized he could grab it, but that would mean leaving Tasha in here alone.

He hesitated and hauled his weakened body around so he could see the commotion on the bed. Tasha was still putting up a good fight and he heard Sheldon grunt as a booted foot sank into his groin. The dark-haired man hauled off and punched her in retaliation and Sam almost changed his mind but he knew leaving her now would be her only chance…and his. So he went.

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He awoke with a start, sitting up on the bed, clutching at his chest and sucking in a deep gulp of air. He was fine, he realized almost immediately. There was no blood, no pain, and he could breathe again. His heart was racing a mile a minute but apart from that, he was fine. His eyes darted over to the adjacent bed and a new wave of fear struck him when they fell on Tasha. She was still sleeping peacefully, her breath slow and even in the silent room. It was eerie how calm she looked, in complete contrast to what Sam knew was going on inside her head this very instant.

Sam pushed himself to his feet and ran to the sink, filling a glass with a quick spurt of water before rushing over to the table. Tasha was drastically outmatched in her dream and had very little chance of even holding Sheldon off, never mind killing him, so he had to move fast. He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket but ignored it – he really didn't have the precious seconds to spare. He scraped shards of the chunk of dreamroot into the glass of water as swiftly as he could, swirling it in the glass as he dashed over to the bed. Tasha didn't have time to waste so he perched himself on the edge, leaned over, and drove his tongue into her mouth, sweeping it back and forth over her own. It was honestly the fastest way he could think of to get her DNA and was surely far less invasive than what Sheldon was attempting right now. He sat back up, downed the glass, and waited.

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It only took a second before he heard her frantic cries from outside the motel room again and he lunged for the door. As expected, on the other side he found the room he had just left. She was still struggling with Sheldon on the bed but, to Sam's horror and fury, her wrists were now tied to newly-appeared bedposts and her top was ripped open in the front, exposing her lace bra. She was squirming and thrashing but Sheldon had her legs pinned and her cries held more fear in them than anger at this point. 

Sam lunged without thinking, throwing his bulk across the bed and knocking himself and Sheldon off the other side, putting an abrupt end to the sadistic laughing. The hunter scolded himself for the move and made a mental note to keep his reactions dream-based from now on, rather than the slow, limited methods of reality. Brain over brawn. It would be the only way he stood a chance against the more experienced dreamwalker.

This time, however, the classic physical method had worked. Sheldon was clearly taken by surprise at Sam's reappearance and swore as he struggled to get out of the hunter's grip on the floor. Sam let him go and rolled away, instantly conjuring a gun into his hands and shooting at Sheldon. He was hoping to have moved quickly enough that Sheldon wasn't able to summon up a defense but received no such luck. All Sheldon did was hold his palm up and the bullets bounced harmlessly away.

Sam wanted to stay on the offensive so he gestured to the dresser behind Sheldon and made it crash down on top of the student. He used the distraction to get to his feet and spared a glance over at Tasha, who was staring at him wild-eyed and tugging furiously at her restraints but otherwise seemed to be okay.

The dresser suddenly flew into the air, shattering into a thousand pieces that disintegrated into nothingness as they dispersed. Sheldon was on his feet in a flash, his jaw set in a tight, angry grimace aimed directly at Sam. He flicked his fingers at the hunter and Sam went flying into the wall behind him, unable to figure out a defense for that move. As he dropped to the ground, he noticed Sheldon raising his hand again and scrambled for some method of defense. He pictured Ruby, of all things, in her petite but lethal blonde-haired form, standing in front of him.

Sheldon hesitated, an appraising look actually reaching the sick son of a bitch's eyes at the sight of the pretty demon who had suddenly appeared. She was poised and in a protective stance, ready to defend Sam with the demon-killing knife in her hand. Sam let out a huff of annoyance at himself. Hiding behind a female wasn't the most impressive way to stay alive, but it was what had come to mind in the spur of the moment.

"I'm afraid blonde's not on the menu for tonight," Sheldon sneered, firing his magically appearing shotgun at the demon. She flinched but otherwise stood her ground.

"You'll have to do better than that," she hissed. "Why don't you start by getting a nose-job, Pinocchio."

Sheldon looked genuinely surprised. "Ho-hoh!" he cheered. "You managed to make a hot bionic woman to defend you." The words were directed at Sam, who was pulling himself to his feet behind the blonde. "How brave you are," Sam didn't miss the sarcasm, "but you're still a dead man."

Sheldon waved his hand and Ruby was gone. He waved it again and Sam was slammed back against the wall behind him. Another wave and Sam hit the far wall with a hard smack. He could feel ribs cracking in his side as he crashed through the drywall and into the unforgiving timber studs. He was flung a third time and his back was slammed up against the solid window frame. He struggled to amass any amount of mental energy to throw back at this guy but the extreme pain was making it difficult.

Tasha was screaming at Sheldon from the bed, straining against her bonds to lift her head and see what was going on. "Stop! Stop! You're killing him!"

Sam realized he was completely outmatched and wasn't going to be able to save himself this time, let alone Tasha and he rolled his head towards her from where he sat slumped against the wall, gasping for air.

"I'm sorry," he rasped, knowing what was in store for her once Sheldon finished him off. "I tried…" He saw the shotgun appear again in Sheldon's hands, the barrel leveled once more at his chest.

"Oh spare me the sentimental crap," Sheldon snapped humorlessly. "Just so you know," he sneered at Sam, "because you've been such a royal pain in the ass," his eyes flickered to Tasha and back to Sam, "I'm gonna be extra rough and I'm gonna cut her fucking heart out when I'm done."

"No wait, Sheldon," Sam pleaded but knew it was pointless. He scrambled to throw some kind of dream mojo at the man with the shotgun but he realized the bastard was blocking him somehow without even breaking a sweat. He saw the dark-haired man snicker as he pumped the 12-gauge but the crack of the shot never came. Instead Sheldon simply keeled over, dropping the gun and falling to the floor with an anticlimactic thud. He lay still and Sam noticed there was a large hole in the side of his head and his right temple was pretty much gone.

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Dean parked his car on a nearby street rather than on campus grounds. What he was doing here, what he was planning, was murder. Not killing a monster or even a possessed human who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, but murder. The premeditated, cold, calculated murder of a human being.

Correction, _not_   a human being. Not in Dean's mind. Not this guy. Sheldon had lost that status the second he'd threatened Tasha. Even the thought of what the bastard planned to do to her, what he could be doing _right fucking now_ , made Dean's skin crawl and his blood boil with anger. Nobody threatened the people he loved and got away with it. And he could deny it until he was blue in the face but the truth was, he loved Tasha. If he had to kill somebody to protect her, so be it. He'd do it for Sam - Hell, he'd done it for Sam already - without flinching.

He crept through the parking lot and across the grassy area at the side of the Psychology wing of the Greenwood Building. He almost couldn't believe his luck to find a walk-out entrance directly to the basement and he jogged down the steps two at a time. He made quick work of the steel door at the bottom and slipped inside to find himself in what looked like a storage room. He ventured out into the hallway and passed a few doors with numbers on them before reaching a wooden door marked 'Prof Lounge'.

Yahtzee.

He pulled his lockpick back out and fifteen seconds later was standing next to a couch in a plushy-furnished sitting room looking down at a sleeping Sheldon.

He pulled the 9mm from where he had stashed it in the back of his jeans, being careful only to touch it with the flap of his shirt. He had chosen a Beretta, a recently acquired addition to the Winchester arsenal. After all, Sam was always watching those CSI shows and he couldn't help but worry about the forensics of this crime scene being traced back to him and costing him his comfortable 'deceased' status on the FBI database.

He patted the sleeping man's pockets and found a small baggie of dreamroot. He stuffed it inside his own jacket and snapped his phone open to hit Sam's speed dial number. Sheldon's chest was rising and falling so he wasn't dead yet, which was not good news. It meant Tasha, and likely Sam, were still in there going through God knows what. It meant Sheldon was still a threat to the sleeping pair. Dean figured it couldn't hurt to call first, just in case Sam was awake and had an update for him.

When he got no answer, he bent Sheldon's arm up and placed the sleeping man's fingers around the hilt of his disposable Beretta, curling the index finger around the trigger. He placed the muzzle against Sheldon's temple and took a deep breath, the implication of what he was about to do hitting him.

He thought of Tasha and pulled the trigger.

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	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again CrazyLadyinVegas! Glad you are enjoying the story. I'll be posting every day or two.

 

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"He's dead," Sam gasped, pushing off the wall in relief. "Dean," he breathed, knowing instinctively that his brother had come through for him. Well, for _them_. He turned towards Tasha and saw she was still coming to the realization the threat was gone.

He pushed himself stiffly to his feet and staggered over to the bed. "Are you okay?" he asked her, the words tumbling over each other in their rush to spill from his mouth. When she gave him a semi-convincing nod, he sank a knee onto the mattress and leaned over to try and free the rope knots Sheldon had created on her wrists.

The knots were impossibly well-tied and he was still struggling with the first one when he felt her trembling slightly against his knee. She started tugging at the restraints and he heard her whisper urgently. "Get them off! Get them off!"

He pried and tugged at the knots, the desperate edge to her voice flustering him. The immediate threat over, she was clearly starting to react to the emotional facets of what had just happened. He huffed in annoyance when he suddenly remembered this was a dream and he could simply will the ropes off her wrists. He pictured them untied and breathed a sigh of relief as he watched them fall to the mattress. He was hoisting himself upright to his knees when she sat up and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face into his chest.

He returned the embrace, drawing her in closer as he slid his long arms and broad shoulders around her slim frame. She clung to him tightly, breathing shaky, raspy breaths and for a moment he thought she was going to cry but she held it in.

He held her gently for what seemed like a long time, hoping his presence could make her feel safe after the close call they'd just had. "It's okay," he murmured to the top of her head, his voice full of a tenderness he rarely got the chance to express in his hardened hunter's life. "It's alright now."

He had never seen her so vulnerable and in need of comfort and was surprised at how deeply it was affecting him. The intimacy and the closeness of the long embrace was making his heartbeat quicken and he came to the shameful realization his feelings for her ran deeper than friendship. His thoughts drifted to Dean out of guilt and he forced himself to pull away from her.

"You okay?" he asked as he gently extracted himself from her grip, cupping her face in his large hands and peering into her brown eyes, searching for the truthful answer no matter what her response was going to be. She sat back on her haunches and nodded convincingly enough that Sam let his hands drop.

"Yeah, sorry," she said quietly, looking around the room. "But I hate this place. We should get out of here before foster-prick comes home."

Her words were a sharp reminder to Sam that she wasn't entirely herself and this was but a dream version of Tasha. Thoughts and events weren't automatically linear, logical, or even coherent in her perception and strange goings on wouldn't necessarily seem strange until she thought back on them after she woke up. She had seen Sam get shot yet didn't question how he was fine now and didn't seem to find it strange that he was sitting with her in a room she had when she was just a teenager.

"He just got taken out of here on a stretcher," he assured her, knowing she was referring to her foster father. "He's not coming back."

"Oh, yeah," she sighed. "You know Sam, it's not what he did that hurts. It's that nobody believed me. Not a single person. I'm just the strange kid who steals blood from morgue and who no parents want their kids to hang around. Know what I figured out today? That I'm totally alone. I'm always alone.  If Diego found me, nobody would even notice."

"Tasha," Sam admonished, his voice laden with pity. He hoped she didn't still feel this way and it was just teenage angst talking. He decided it would be better if he could make her more aware and more her current self. "Remember the case with the dreamroot?" he asked. "In Phoenix?"

She gave him a puzzled look and nodded.

"Well this is just a dream," he said, pointing around the room. "You're dreaming."

"I'm dreaming?" Like last time, she didn't look convinced right away.

"Yeah," Sam nodded. "Sheldon Weike got his hands on your DNA and you went to sleep. This is your dream. I took the dreamroot so I could come in and make sure you were okay."

She looked thoughtful. "That was Sheldon that just…" She looked down and noticed her top was ripped open and her hand jumped to pull it closed. "Shit," she gasped.

"It's okay, he's dead," Sam assured her quickly, amused that she could be embarrassed at giving him a glimpse of bra when he had seen and touched so much more than that last night.

"Okay, wake me up," she ordered, suddenly seeming very much like the Tasha he knew.

"Uh, Sheldon drugged you, remember? I think you're stuck in dreamland for a little while yet."

She looked distastefully around the room. "I'm stuck here? In this hellhole?"

"No, we can change the dream. If you take control of it, you can take us wherever you want to go." Sam figured he'd hand the reins over as Dean had with Bobby.

"How do I do that?"

"Just concentrate on a happy place and picture yourself there," he answered simply.

She rolled her eyes but screwed up her face in concentration for a few seconds. Nothing happened.

"Okay, start small," Sam suggested. "Try to change something in the room."

She huffed in annoyance, patience never having been one of her stronger suits. She scrunched her eyes closed again and Sam felt something tickle his neck. He looked down to find his shirt gone and a pink, feathered boa wrapped around his neck.

He looked back up to see Tasha laughing at him, all traces of hurt from all that had happened wiped from her cheery face. "Hey, it worked!" she giggled.

"Very funny," he blushed, his lips betraying him as they spread into a wide grin at the sight and sound of her laughter. "Give me my shirt back."

"Spoilsport," she snickered but she closed her eyes and tried again. "Listen, you're the dreamwalking guru," she said finally when nothing happened. "Can't _you_ just take us somewhere else?"

Sam shrugged but agreed, anxious to get himself out of the ridiculous outfit.

"Somewhere I like," she interjected. "Find somewhere good in here." She tapped her temple.

Sam was acutely aware of the fact that she was inviting him to poke around in her head and found the level of trust in him that implied heartwarming but more than a little daunting. He reached his mind out towards hers and quickly found the swirling mass of emotions. Without the urgency and the distractions of his previous attempts, he took his time and concentrated on some of the nice ones. He found one that had a strong sense of peace attached to it and decided that was what she needed right now. Projecting a little farther into that specific memory showed him a scenic spot in Oklahoma, a small grassy clearing at the top of a rocky outcrop overlooking a beautiful, secluded lake. He pulled it forward and within seconds, they were sitting in the same positions they had been on the bed only now on a patch of grass. There was a light breeze and birds were chirping in the surrounding trees. Sam had made sure his shirt was back on and the boa was gone.

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Dean made it back to the Impala without incident, his face set in stony austerity. He drove the busy Phoenix streets stiff-shouldered and tense, a sense of dread about what he would find in the room mounting inside him as he approached the motel. Tasha and Sam had been under a long time before he'd killed Sheldon. What if the bastard had tried to attack Tasha as he had planned? Or worse, what if he had succeeded?

As if that wasn't a horrifying enough scenario, what if Sam had tried to stop Sheldon? Dean knew without a doubt Sam would stop at nothing to save Tasha, it was what the Winchesters did. It was the sole reason Sam kept hunting even though Yellow-Eyes was dead and Jessica had been avenged. He did it to save people. If the unthinkable happened and Sheldon managed to rape Tasha, it meant Sam was dead.

Dean shook the thought from his head like he was shaking water from his ears after a swim. Sam was tough, smart, and resourceful. Throw in his freaky psychic shit and he could certainly hold his own against some smarmy university punk.

He opened the motel door completely unaware he was holding his breath. His eyes fell on the two still forms and his heart immediately skipped a beat at the unexpected revelation that they were now on the same bed. How had that happened? How had Sam gone from his own bed to being sprawled on his back next to Tasha, his arm draped across her hips and his long limbs hanging off the side of the mattress?

He strode over to the bedside and laid a hand on Sam's chest. He let out a gush of air in his relief at the feel of the muscled physique rising with breath. Tasha too was still breathing, a fact he could see more easily as her shapelier form was lifting Sam's head slightly as she inhaled.

In fact, besides Sam's awkward position, they two of them looked quite serene and peaceful. Dean sat himself on the edge of the empty bed, leaning forward on his knees and studying the oblivious pair. The silence offered him an unwanted opportunity for quiet reflection and contemplation and he was soon lost in dark thought. As was common these days, his _last_   days, his thoughts centered around his imminent death and what was to become of the people he was leaving behind.

Sam was strong. He would keep going. The kid had always been independent, achingly so as far as Dean was concerned. It was Sam's strength and independence that had taken him away from Dean for almost four years when a teenage Sam had left him and their father to go to Stanford and shoot for normal. He would grieve but eventually, he would get over it and move on, hopefully back to that apple pie life Dean had mistakenly dragged him away from three years ago. Dean didn't want to go to Hell but, given a do-over, he would still make the deal. Sam was worth it.

His eyes drifted to Tasha and guilt once again curled its accusing tendrils around his heart. He should never have brought her along with them. He'd never dreamed that he would actually fall in love with her - he had convinced himself it had been all about the sex. It had been an easy lie because, Hell, the sex was amazing. But now that he looked back on it, the truth was that being around her made all the constant fear and pain go away. She made him laugh and made him feel so _not_   alone. She never judged his way of life, the traveling, the credit card scams, the hustling, the having no worldly possessions save his car and what fit into its trunk, his lack of a higher education, his co-dependent and almost obsessive devotion to Sam…...none of it.  She understood him. 

When he had traded his soul for Sam's life, he'd had nothing left to live for - not without Sam. His tired, empty soul hadn't been too high of a price and making the deal had been a no-brainer. By letting Tasha into his life, all he had succeeded in doing was giving himself another reason to live. Something else to lose. Something else to miss when he was screaming in torment from the bowels of Hell for all eternity.

He let out a long, tired sigh. _And someone else to hurt when he died._

At least Sam would still be there for her. It was obvious they cared for each other and Dean was sure they would stay in touch after he was gone. Sam would continue looking for leads on Diego and wouldn't ever stop hounding Bobby to dig up some intel on the looming vampire threat. Sure, the kid was all awkward and bothered around her right now because of the wild and crazy incident in the Impala last night, but he'd get over that eventually. He nodded his head in physical agreement with his own silent thoughts. Yeah, he could count on Sam to look out for her after he was gone. They were friends and he trusted Sam to look out for his friends. Hell, he trusted Sam with everything.

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"How'd I do?" Sam asked Tasha. "This a good spot?"

She gave him a slightly confused look. "What do you mean how'd you do?"

Sam groaned as he realized that once again, the knowledge that this was a dream had been wiped from her awareness. "Never mind," he dismissed, feeling no need to go through the explanation all over again. "What is this spot?"

She seemed relaxed as she looked around. "I love it up here," she said quietly. "After my Dad died, my aunt thought it would be too dangerous for me to stay with her so we created Natasha Walker and I spent four years in the Oklahoma Foster Care system. I used to sneak up here any chance I got. I grew up spending a lot of time alone and solitude isn't something you get much of in most foster homes. Most of the families were nice but they were so…..restrained. So-called normal families," she told him, "get so wrapped up in obligations and routines. They're so confined within their preconceived limitations and social constraints that they forget to actually _live_ , you know?"

Sam couldn't help but smile as she spoke. He had always known she was intelligent but, like Dean, she rarely expressed the depths of her thoughts and opinions, instead dumbing down her comments or making light of her feelings to prevent accidental personal exposure. The fact that she was speaking so freely to him now ignited a sense of intimacy between them and he was finding himself drawn to her like never before. He wondered briefly if this was a side of her Dean got to see.

"My Dad and I used to live day to day, like you and Dean," she continued. "We went where we wanted when we wanted. We saw so many different places and wonderful things. Normal people miss out on a lot, you know?"

She turned towards him and smiled. "Of course _you_   know," she said, leaning in and giving him a friendly shoulder nudge. "Of all people, you understand. You never look at me like I'm crazy."

He turned towards her and her face was suddenly so close to his that Sam could feel her breath on his cheek. He was acutely aware that the energy between them was quickly transforming into something else, something both compelling and frightening. He knew he should pull away but couldn't bring himself to do it. He knew she wasn't the real Tasha but rather the uninhibited, slightly altered dream conscience version of Tasha but he still needed to back off. All the Tashas belonged to his brother. His pulse was racing and he shifted to sit up straighter but before he knew what was happening, she was pressing her lips against his.

Every nerve and muscle was screaming at him to put a stop to this; that this was Dean's girl and this was cheating. His desire and his hunger, however, were disguising themselves as his logic and were frantically trying to convince him that this was just a dream therefore he wasn't really touching her and there was no actual physical contact whatsoever. No harm done.

The deceitful emotions finally won and he returned the kiss, parting his lips and allowing his tongue to slide along her lower lip. She let him in without hesitation, her own tongue caressing his as she coaxed it farther in. Her hand was suddenly sliding around to the nape of his neck, her fingers gently curling into the wisps of his uncut hair. Her head tilted to weave its way closer and she leaned in against him, her body pressing its warmth onto his.

His arms slid around her of their own accord and he felt her relax into his hold, her mouth and tongue dancing with his, sucking and swirling in one seemingly endless breath. She released the softest, most alluring moan Sam had ever heard right into his mouth and all thoughts of guilt vanished in a sudden wave of longing.

Just a few seconds into the kiss, Sam realized without a doubt what had set her apart from the hundred other girls Dean had been with; why his brother had become so quickly smitten. The way she gave herself over so completely to the kiss. The breathy, barely-perceptible moans that begged for more. The intoxicating, heavenly taste of her. Her ability to instantly make the entire world disappear, leaving just the two linked bodies and nothing else to hear, see, or touch.

This was what he was experiencing now and he reveled in it, closing his eyes and breathing her in. He drew her closer and plunged his tongue deeper into the welcoming heat of her mouth, tasting her in the most intimate of ways that she had previously denied him. The tenderness of the first moments soon gave way to neediness and lust and he found his hands roaming over her curves, gliding from her hips upwards and finally around to her breasts.

Never allowing his mouth to lose contact with her lips, he pressed forward, urging her gently backwards as he lowered her down onto the grass. His body followed and before he could make sense of what was happening, he was on top of her, a knee planted in the grass on either side of her and his fingers fisting in the long, chestnut locks at the back of her head as he kissed her even more fiercely. Responding to his increased urgency, she slid her hands up in between their nearly-touching torsos and glided them across his chest before letting them roam southward. They made their way back up his well-muscled abs underneath the cumbersome shirts and Sam couldn't help but relocate his knees to between her legs, gently pushing her thighs apart as he lowered his body down to grind his hips against hers.

He gasped and broke the kiss at the sheer intensity of his body's response to the move. Despite the almost overwhelming urge to start ripping clothes off, he froze.

"I can't," he said in breathless restraint. "Dean."

He hovered over her on his elbows and knees, panting from his former anticipation and his current struggle with self-control. "Are you gonna be okay?" he asked her urgently, his voice not much more than a whisper. He searched her eyes for reassurance. He needed to leave. If he didn't, he was sure he wouldn't be able to stop himself.

"Well I would be if you would just take those pants off," she smiled at him suggestively, her fingers ghosting over his belt buckle and her legs hooking themselves behind his thighs.

"I can't," he repeated, realizing this wasn't even really Tasha but her dream self. A flood of guilt and shame washed over him and he projected his mind out in desperate search of the edge of the dream, the awakeness he had found before. "You'll be alright," he added in a reassuring tone. "You're safe here and you'll wake up soon."

He found what he was looking for and reached for it, letting his hazel eyes lock on hers once more.

"I love you," he blurted, lowering his head to give her a quick kiss on the forehead before dashing for the exit.

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	12. Chapter 12

 

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Dean was still staring at the sleeping pair when Sam's lashes began to flutter and his sasquatch-sized limbs started twitching. The elder Winchester was on his feet and hovering over his brother by the time Sam was fully awake.

"Sam?" he greeted the green eyes the instant they opened. "Sam."

"Yeah," Sam acknowledged, his arm instinctively weaving its way in between his own face that of his anxious brother, urging Dean to back off a little.

"You okay?" Dean didn't wait for an answer. "Is Tash okay? What happened?"

Sam sat up, twisting around at the waist to check on Tasha himself before answering. She was still sleeping soundly. A million thoughts went through his head. Why had he said those words to her? What had he been thinking? Heck, what was _she_   now thinking? He was still acutely aware of the pressure in his jeans from what had been going on before he had left the dream like a virgin running from Ron James and he covered the conspicuous bulge with an arm quickly, hoping like Hell his brother hadn't noticed.

"Sam!" Dean urged, still waiting for an answer to his barrage of questions.

"She's fine," Sam assured him. "Sheldon tried and honestly, he came pretty close to succeeding, but I'm guessing you shot him in the head because he just keeled over."

Dean nodded in satisfaction, taking a step back. "Damn right I did."

Sam was quick to notice his brother almost looked pleased and the news of how close it had been seemed to relieve Dean of any sense of wrongdoing. "Okay," the elder Winchester said in his commanding hunter's tone. "Let's get our shit and get out of here." He moved to the table and started throwing things in the closest duffel.

"Why the rush?" Sam asked, though he was already following the order and grabbing the second duffel from the floor. "Shouldn't we wait until she wakes up?"

"Dude, I just shot a guy," Dean said matter-of-factly. "I tried to make it look like suicide but according to those cop shows you watch, they can probably figure it out from angles of blood spatter or some shit. We've been walking all over town looking for the guy and fifty people saw me attack him in the bar earlier. I'd say we'll be the prime suspects, as usual." He gestured towards Tasha. "Besides, she could be out all night. We still don't know what drug he gave her."

They were packed in less than thirty seconds and Dean tossed Sam the second duffel before going over to the bed Tasha was lying on and sliding his arms underneath her. He picked her up swiftly under the knees and the shoulders, cradling her head against his uninjured collarbone, and carried her towards the door.  Sam opened it for him, also opening the Impala's rear door and throwing the duffels in the trunk while Dean laid Tasha gently in the back seat. Dean balled up his jacket as a pillow and tossed Sam the key to Tasha's room next door, ordering him to go get her stuff. Sam did so without arguing and had no sooner sunk his large frame into the Impala's passenger seat than the classic car roared out of the parking lot.

Once on the road and on the outskirts of the city, Dean began to question Sam about what had happened, starting with where Tasha was now.

"She's fine," Sam assured him. "I left her by a little lake in Oklahoma."

"Rocky outcrop up a hill?" Dean asked.

"Uh, yeah," Sam confirmed, surprised at how Dean would know that.

"Huh. She used to go there when she was in the foster homes," Dean explained almost wistfully. Sam wasn't sure, but he thought he detected a bit of jealousy that Sam had now seen the spot when Dean hadn't.

"She said she wanted to take me there next time we're in Oklahoma…" Dean continued but cut himself off when he caught his brother looking at him with a raised eyebrow. "Okay, what happened?" he deflected. "Tell me from the start."

"Fine," Sam conceded, though he wasn't sure how much detail he should tell his brother. After all, it had been Tasha's personal thoughts and it was bad enough she'd had him and Sheldon wandering around in there. On the other hand, he didn't really have the right to know intimate things about Tasha that Dean didn't.

"The first dream was Sheldon's doing…"

"Wait, the _first_   dream?" Dean interrupted.

"Yeah, Sheldon just poked around in her head and kept picking out the worst memories he could find. He likes to put the girls through Hell before he tops it off by raping them, remember?"

"Oh yeah," Dean ground out through gritted teeth.

"Well the first one was when her mother died," Sam continued.

"Shit," Dean swore quietly. "She came home and found her. How bad was it?"

"Bad," Sam admitted, remembering the bloody state Erin had been in and Tasha crying over her. "It was pretty gruesome. Anyway, I managed to change the dream into a nicer one with her and her dad in Peru," he went on.

"Way to go, Psychic-Boy," Dean cheered, his tone not entirely approving. Sam guessed that was because of his brother's disdain for anything psychic-related and chose to ignore the comment.

"Then he took her to a warehouse. Her dad was there and Diego showed up."

"Bastard." Dean's grip tightened on the steering wheel. "In Chicago? Where Diego killed her dad?"

Sam raised an eyebrow at this revelation. He had known her dad had been killed by Diego when she was fourteen but hadn't heard any details. Apparently Dean had. Brian Malick had been hurt during the dream but Sam had pulled them out of it for fear of Diego killing Tasha and when they'd left, her father had still been alive. "Could have been," he admitted.

It dawned on Sam that a lot more than just sex took place in the couple of hours Dean spent in Tasha's room every night. His brother seemed to know all about the traumatic events and private hideaways in Tasha's life even though she had never spoken of them to Sam. He wondered briefly how many of Dean's secrets his brother had shared with her and suspected it was more than the emotionally repressed hunter had ever shared with anyone else. After the events of the past twenty-four hours, he knew without a doubt that Dean was in love with Tasha. And, he thought guiltily, just maybe so was he. He groaned inwardly at the memory of telling her that exact thing right before he woke himself up. It had just come out of his mouth before he'd had a chance to think about it, much like it had the first time he'd said it to Jessica. Of course, he'd been dating Jessica and she had said it back, definitely a more appropriate situation.

He struggled to refocus his thoughts to his relating of the dreamed events. "Then we hopped into a dream about that field outside of Nashville where we stopped," he continued.

"Your choice?" Dean asked, sounding vaguely amused.

"Hers actually," Sam shrugged. "I could tell it was a nice memory for her so I took us there." He did notice the hint of a pleased smile playing with his brother's lips as Dean stole a glance at the sleeping girl in the back seat. Obviously a fond memory for Dean as well. "Anyway, Sheldon showed up and, well, he killed you."

"Me? Why me?"

"To upset Tasha," Sam explained. "And trust me," he said with a heavy sigh at the memory of her anguish and despair as she clutched Dean's dead body, "it upset her."

"That bad?" Dean gave him a look that Sam thought seemed like a look of guilt. Only his big brother could manage to find a way to blame himself for Sheldon's choice of nightmare.

"Dude, it was horrible," Sam elaborated. "She was messed up. Said everybody was dead, that everybody died and please not you too." He realized as soon as he had spoken the words that he should have kept that part to himself. He knew his brother was losing hope that they would find a way out of his deal and therefore expected to be dead for real in just over three weeks' time.

Sam was silent for a moment, studying his brother's face. Dean seemed to be aware of the scrutiny because he kept his eyes forward and trained on the road. "Anyway," Sam continued, deciding now wasn't the time for that conversation. "Next came foster home number six."

Dean's head snapped around and whatever expression of guilt and sympathy he had there was wiped out and quickly replaced with one of anger.

Sam just shrugged, knowing the implications for Tasha went without saying. "Then he attacked her and you shot him just in time."

Dean was silent for another moment, the recounting of all the dreams clearly taking an emotional toll on him. "How close did he get?" he asked, his voice raspy with dread.

"Shirt ripped open, that's it," Sam assured him. "Tasha put up a good fight." A grin spread across his face. "Even stabbed him with that knife of hers."

Dean got a chuckle out of that image. "So how'd you end up on the other bed?" he asked, a crease of confusion appearing in his brow.

"Bastard shot me," Sam admitted.

Dean's eyes flew open and his head spun around towards Sam again. "Mother fucker!" he seethed. "If you'da died in the dream…"

"But I didn't," Sam placated quickly. "I woke myself up and went right back in."

"Oh, I am _sooo_  glad I killed that animal," Dean declared fervently.

"Me too," Sam agreed truthfully. "There was no rehabilitating him. He was pure evil. Worse than some of the monsters we've killed by a long shot."

He got no argument from his brother on that one. They rode in silence for almost three hours, crossing the border into New Mexico to the east of Tucson. Dean threw a cautious glance into the backseat where Tasha was still sleeping soundly before finally speaking up in a quiet voice.

"Hey Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"I've been thinking."

"Uh-oh," Sam aimed for levity, sensing the heaviness of his brother's mood and hoping to steer his sibling away from the suspected upcoming round of Dean self-loathing and blame. It didn't work and his brother's stiff expression never wavered.

"I'm not gonna tell Tash about the deal."

"Dean!" Sam groaned in exasperation. "You have to. She's gonna find out sooner or later and we need to concentrate on finding a way out of it. We can't do that if we're tiptoeing around her to keep her from finding out the truth."

"That won't be a problem," Dean explained, not raising his voice to match Sam's but instead speaking in a strained and hushed tone.

"What do you mean?"

"Sam, everybody she's ever been close to in her life has died," Dean continued. "Everybody. They haven't left her or gone missing or taken off; they've all _died_." Sam was about to say something but Dean cut him off with a raised hand. "You saw it yourself in the dream where Sheldon killed me," he pointed out. "What she said…"

Sam remembered and suppressed a shudder. ' _Everybody dies. Everybody's dead. Not you too, please._ ' He sighed. "Not telling her isn't going to make a bit of difference when she sees Hellhounds coming after you," he told his brother. He hated to be so blunt but it seemed his brother was being irrationally stubborn. It wasn't fair or wise to keep Tasha in the dark.

"She's not gonna see them coming," Dean continued. "Coz I'm gonna break it off with her before it comes to that."

"Dean, you can't…" Sam hadn't expected that answer.

"Yes, I can," Dean replied, his voice adopting a stern tone of finality. "Everybody dies on her, Sam. This time, I think it would be better if someone just walked away. She never has to know what happened. She can't _ever_   know where I'm going."

"Dean..."

"She can't know, Sam. I don't want her to have to go on knowing that." Dean gave his brother a sympathetic look. "It's bad enough you have to know. I wanted to spare you that but you figured it out and…" he sighed. "And I'm sorry about that."

"Dean, you sound like you're dead already," Sam admonished. "We're going to find a way out of this deal."

"Well if we do, I'll call her back up," Dean shrugged, not sounding convinced in the least. "But just in case, as of tomorrow, it's just me and you again."

"And what's she supposed to do?" Sam asked, not sure if the knot in his stomach was from the thought of Tasha being alone or from the thought of never seeing her again. "She's got nobody." He remembered dream-Tasha telling him how alone she felt and that if Diego ever found her, nobody would even notice. Dean dumping her would leave her both hurt and completely alone in the world.

Dean's shoulders slumped and he let out a long exhale. "Dude, she's been by herself since she was eighteen. She can do the credit card scams better than you and she can hotwire a car faster than me." He kept his eyes trained on the road ahead. "She'll be fine," he added quietly, his voice strained.

Sam had no doubts Tasha could take care of her physical self; it was her heart he was worried about. But he had to admit, he knew that was going to get broken either way. At least Dean's plan would save her from reliving her biggest fear – someone she loves dying.

"Okay, you're right," he admitted grudgingly, though a new wave of nausea washed over him at the thought of Dean having to give up Tasha. Dean hadn't had very many close relationships and Sam was fairly certain he hadn't been in love with many women before, if any. The nomadic, emotionally guarded hunter had finally found some measure of happiness but now fate at its cruelest was ripping that away from him just like it had taken everything else. Living with the threat of impending death hanging over his brother for the past year, Sam had come to appreciate Dean for everything he had done for him and given him, things Sam had taken for granted his whole life. Besides getting his brother out of his deal, the thing Sam wanted the most in the world now was for Dean to find some peace.

"You're right about Tasha, but we're still gonna find you a way out of the deal," he added, giving his brother a long, hard stare. "Don't give up on me yet, Dean."

Dean granted him a half-hearted smile. "I'm not giving up," he said. "I'm just taking precautions."

They drove in silence for a few minutes, the Impala chewing up the tarmac of Highway 10 with a low, even rumble. Sam could still sense Dean's heavy thoughts and wasn't all that surprised when his brother came out with a rare, heartfelt admission. These days, with his deadline looming near, Dean's fear was tearing holes in his carefully constructed façade, giving Sam more frequent glimpses into the elder Winchester's troubled psyche. Right now, Dean was clearly dreading giving Tasha the news.

"I've never had to break-up with a girl before," he admitted with a soft laugh. "Usually I just leave town or lose the chick's number." His forehead creased in a frown of trepidation. "I never should have let her come along with us," he sighed, repeating the sentiment he had shared with Sam the night before.

"You didn't know it would turn into something so real," Sam defended.

His brother made brief eye contact before returning his focus back to the road. "I knew," he admitted. "I knew after about a week. And I should have broken it off then but I just wanted a little bit of happiness before... before I go. I thought I deserved that much."

"You do, Dean." Sam meant it.

"Yeah, but she didn't."

"I'm gonna fix this," Sam blurted, unable to bear the hurt and hopelessness in his brother's voice. "I'm gonna save you. There's gotta be a way out of it, Dean, we just haven' found it yet."

Dean swallowed. "Let's hope so," he said unenthusiastically. "Maybe we'll get lucky and find the Colt."

"We'll find something," Sam assured him in earnest. They fell back into silence, each lost in their own thoughts and neither said a word until they pulled up at a cheap, roadside motel a couple of hours before dawn to get some desperately needed shut-eye.

Sam woke up the night clerk to check-in and Dean carried Tasha into the room. He put her down on the farthest bed from the door, his gaze lingering on her face as he stood over her and he bent down to brush a stray curl from her cheek. With a sigh he took his boots and jacket off and lay down on his back next to her. Sam dropped himself on the other bed and within minutes, all three were lost in the depths of slumber.

 

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Dean awoke a slight start when he felt movement against his hip. The room was still dark though he could see narrow slivers of light sneaking their way around the heavy motel curtains. He turned his head and flexed his bicep only to find Tasha nuzzled into the crook of his arm, her slow, even breath warming his neck and her slender hand draped over his chest.

He was mildly surprised he hadn't woken up when she had first snuggled up against him; he wasn't exactly a heavy sleeper. He rotated his torso towards her a little, tilting his head to ghost a kiss on her forehead. "Tash, you awake?" he whispered softly.

"Mmm-hmm," she murmured sleepily, wriggling her body closer but not opening her eyes.

Dean smiled and slid his free arm over the curve of her waist, settling his head back on the pillow with his forehead practically touching hers. It made sense she would still be drowsy from the effects of the drug but it was a good sign she was at least awake enough to cuddle up to him. He decided to let her finish sleeping it off and enjoy the rare opportunity to have her sleep in his arms. Pulling his leather jacket gently over them both for warmth, he closed his eyes and let his whole body relax against hers. He wanted to savor every morsel of closeness he could get since this would probably be their last night together, their last moments spent like this.

Despite how comfortable he was and how wonderful it felt to hold her and feel the calm, even rise and fall of her chest against his, Dean didn't fall back asleep. Instead he stayed as he was for nearly three more hours, inhaling deeply as if trying to breathe her in, trying to stash her very essence somewhere so deep inside he'd still be able to feel it in Hell. Finally, he felt her stirring and although he desperately wanted the intimacy to last longer, he loosened his embrace and was graced with the sight of her soft, brown eyes flickering open.

"Mornin' sleepy-head," he greeted her. She replied with a groggy smile and a soft moan to indicate her pleasure at waking up in his arms. She ran her hand over his chest and shifted her knee higher up onto his thigh in a pretense of a sleepy stretch.

"Mornin' Dean," she muttered, flexing her shoulders and neck as she extricated herself from his gentle grip. She pulled herself over him and kissed him firmly on the mouth before sitting upright and looking around the room.

Sam was just sitting up on the other bed, his tired expression making evident the restlessness of his sleep over the past few hours.

"Someone wanna fill me in on exactly what happened?" Tasha asked, her wrinkled forehead demonstrating her obvious confusion about what had been real and what she had dreamt.

 

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Fifteen minutes later, Dean went in the shower and Sam found himself alone in the room with Tasha. She dug through Dean's duffel for a half-empty bag of chips and sank into one of the plastic motel room chairs, planting her bare feet on the cheap wooden coffee table.

"Wild ride, huh?" she smiled at the hunter who had been carefully avoiding eye contact with her.

"Uh, yeah, sure was," Sam answered, giving her a quick nod.

"Thanks, Sam."

"Huh?" He threw her a questioning look.

She rolled her eyes and grinned at him. "For coming in to get me, you dimwit."

"Oh. It was Dean that killed Sheldon."

"Yeah, but you took a big risk coming in with me. You even got shot." Her smile faded. "So thank-you," she added sincerely.

Sam gave her a quick ' _you're welcome_ ' shrug as he sat on the edge of the bed.

"So how's he handling it anyway?" she asked.

"Huh? Who? What?" Sam wasn't following. _Shit! Does she think he told Dean about the kiss?_

"Dean. Killing Sheldon," she explained. "He's a hard-core hunter but I hate that he had to do that. To be honest, I was kinda planning on doing it myself when we found him. I really didn't want him to have to. Or you," she added with a glance up at Sam that the hunter thought seemed a little awkward.

"You wouldn't have had a problem killing a human?" Sam asked incredulously.

She shook her head. "That guy? No qualms." She sounded confident in her reply and Sam was apt to believe her. "But you know how sensitive Dean is. He lets things chew him up inside. He's probably in there thinking how cold-hearted and inhuman he is that he was able to shoot a guy in cold blood."

Sam had never heard his brother described as sensitive before. Though he knew it to be true, it wasn't a side of Dean the hunter let show very often and most people didn't realize the depth of feeling hidden beneath his cocky façade. Sam found he wasn't really surprised with the accuracy of her assessment of his brother. "Normally I'd say you were right," he told her, "But this time, with that guy, I'm pretty sure he's okay with it."

"No angst?" she ventured with a half-hearted laugh that he couldn't help again thinking felt a bit awkward.

"Not about that," Sam confirmed.

She was quiet for a moment, the only sound in the room being the muffled noise of water running in the tiled shower of the washroom. When she did speak, the awkward had been dialed up a notch and Sam couldn't help but zero in on it.

"So, uh, you came out before me then?"

He shifted on the edge of the bed in discomfort. "Yeah," he nodded, keeping his wary reply simple until he knew where this conversation was going.

"What was the last thing you saw?" She seemed intent on finding an elusive chip at the bottom of the Doritos bag and was not looking his way.

"Uh, let's see," Sam stalled. "Sheldon died and I untied you and…that's right you dressed me up like a drag queen."

His deflection seemed to work for Tasha giggled. "Oh yeah. That was a good look for you."

"You're lucky I didn't return the favor," he quipped, the awkward atmosphere lifting slightly with the familiarity of the banter between them.

"Hey, I think I could pull off a boa."

Sam chuckled. "You're probably right. You could pull off pretty much anything."

And just like that the air became tense again. _Jesus, what was with his constant display of foot-in-mouth disease these days?_

Tasha's grin faded. "You picked out the next dream, …in Oklahoma?" she led.

"Yeah, it seemed like a good place to leave you."

She perked up a little at that. "You left?" she asked eagerly. "At what point exactly?"

Sam realized she was confused and didn't know if it had been the real him that she had kissed or a dream-version of him.

"Right away," he lied smoothly. "I didn't think I needed to stick around, Sheldon was dead." He relaxed his shoulders in a perfect display of relaxed and casual. "Why?" he asked innocently.

Tasha's shoulders relaxed visibly and she let out a deep exhale of obvious relief. "No reason, just wondering," she dismissed, digging for another chip. She mumbled something that Sam thought sounded like ' _Just a bout of hero worship'_   but he couldn't be sure and didn't ask her to repeat it.

He wasn't sure if her relief was that they hadn't kissed or that he hadn't told her he loved her but the fact that she was relieved in the first place made her feelings abundantly clear. Though it wasn't lost on him that she initiated the kiss, dreamland or not, he decided his lie would put her, and them, at ease.

She was quiet another moment and it wasn't until she crumpled up the chip bag and tossed it into the garbage can with a perfect swish that she spoke.

"Remember the dream with my dad in the warehouse, when he told me to run and I refused and I tried to fight Diego?" she asked him softly.

"Yeah," he answered, lowering his voice to match hers.

"Well, in real life, I ran and Diego killed my dad."

Sam wasn't sure why she was telling him this. She had clearly already told Dean many of the details, but why would she now feel the need or want to tell him?

"I thought Diego would follow me," she continued. "My dad wasn't in the bloodline so he really didn't have any interest in him."

He realized suddenly how personal dreams were and his being there to see and actually experience something with her had given him a place within her outer walls. He had seen things of her life with more detail than she could ever explain or tell somebody else. Having shared these experiences with her had somehow given them some sort of connection, an intimate and personal link that he thought she must be reacting to now. She clearly wanted to get some of the guilt off her chest and Sam having been there seemed to have opened a door and taken their relationship to a higher level, one not so reliant on Dean being the common thing between them. A more direct friendship between them.

"You were fourteen," he said comfortingly. "It wasn't your fault."

"I think you of all people know how it works, Sam."

The hunter gave her a questioning look, not sure what she meant by that.

"Dean told me about how you blame yourself for your mom getting killed because the demon was after you. And you were a baby, you _had_   to know it wasn't your fault. But all the logic and reason in the world doesn't make the guilt go away, does it?"

"No," he admitted. "No, I guess you're right."

This was a new side to Tasha Sam was seeing. Open and honest, sharing her feelings without the sarcasm and the teasing. He found himself quite liking this emo version of her and wondered briefly if this was the Tasha that Dean got every evening during their time alone. He wondered if she got an emo version of his brother at the same time. A slight pang of jealousy struck him and he wasn't sure if it was directed at Tasha or Dean.

He changed the subject and gave her a teasing smile. "So Dean tells you all my secrets? You two spend your alone time talking about me? How sad is that?"

He got a grin in response. "This is Dean we're talking about," she laughed. "His world revolves around you, remember? And he thinks if he talks about you then it keeps the conversation off him."

Sam was aware how dangerously codependent the brothers must seem to outsiders but Tasha had never offered judgment on that. Spending twenty-four-seven with them for two months, she must have wondered but didn't seem to find it strange or creepy, even though Dean always insisted on sleeping in the motel room with his little brother instead of with her. His thoughts were interrupted by the hunter in question emerging from the steamy bathroom in nothing but a towel.

"Now that's a sight for sore eyes," Tasha grinned, reaching for the towel with a giggle as Dean walked past her.

Sam couldn't help but smile as Dean tightened his grip on the towel's knot, laughing as he darted out of her reach. "I'd say you've got about four minutes of hot water left," he told her. "So unless you want to forfeit your turn to Sammy, you'd better get in there."

She jumped up quickly. "Sorry, Sam," she said grabbing a clean towel and heading towards the bathroom. "But saving my hide still doesn't earn you my warm shower."

When she had closed the door and the sound of running water started up again, Dean turned to Sam. "Okay, dude," he said, his smile gone. "I'm doing it when she gets out so make yourself scarce." He grabbed a t-shirt and shirt from his duffel.

"But Sam," he added hesitantly as the younger Winchester headed towards the door. "Don't go far."

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	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank-you Mase for your kind comment! Very glad you are enjoying the story!

 

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"What do you mean go our separate ways?" Tasha's jaw dropped and a stunned expression came over her face.

"What I mean is we've had fun but we both knew this wasn't forever," Dean explained, the calm of his voice not betraying even a hint of the gut wrenching turmoil that was going on inside him.

"What?" Now it was confusion and disbelief.

He swallowed and continued. "It's just that Sam and I are used to being by ourselves," he stammered, not sure what else to say, what other excuse to give, what other lie to tell.

Tasha gave him a long, hard stare, her expression making it clear his words hadn't fully registered yet and she was still trying to figure out what was going on.

"Tell me this isn't because of what happened in the car," she said finally. "Because I just gave you a look, _you_   told me to go ahead. You said you wanted me to." There was a definite defensive tone to her voice.

"No," Dean replied quickly. "No, it's not that at all." A thought suddenly occurred to him that maybe he should use that as an excuse but he decided that would likely make her feel cheap and that was something he couldn't bear.

Not that the fear and unmistakable hurt that was now creeping into her face was even remotely bearable.

"It's coz you're scared, isn't it?" she accused. "Listen, this is all new to me too but you don't see me bailing."

"I'm not scared." Dean was almost convincing.

"Bullshit. You're scared because you feel the same way I do and you don't know what to do about it. And you're scared because I could have been killed last night and you didn't like how worried you got. You think it's easier to not care about someone than to have to worry about losing them."

The hunter was at a loss for words. She wasn't making this easy on him. He couldn't deny she was right about him being scared by what had blossomed between them, how deep and powerful it had quickly become, but he hadn't allowed that fear to come between them before. The want and need to be around her had been overwhelming, surprisingly far more so than the fear of opening his heart to her. Of course, that was also the reason he was having this conversation three weeks before he was going to die instead of two months ago when he should have had it.

Tasha took his silence as an invitation to continue her argument, which was clearly growing more desperate as Dean wasn't backing down and she was realizing he was deadly serious about breaking it off.

"Dean, I've lost everybody. Everybody." She took a step towards him from where she was standing at the foot of the bed they had slept on last night but he maintained his distance by taking an involuntary step backwards. Her breath hitched when she noticed his move and she stopped. "But I'm willing to take that chance and live with the risk of going through it again," she finished from where she stood.

Dean bit his lip. With him, it wasn't a chance, it was a certainty.

"Your life isn't exactly safe," she continued, "but being with you is worth the risk of losing you."  Her fingers seemed to involuntarily move to hover over her heart, a clear indication of what she was risking.

That action, however, just further convinced Dean that he was making the right move. He was going to die. There wasn't just a risk of him dying; there was no chance of him surviving.

"Tash, I'm sorry," he managed. "Sam and I just need to deal with some things and we can't do that with you tagging along." It was a lame excuse, he knew, but it was all he could come up with.

"Don't blame Sam!" she retorted heatedly. "This is all you! And whatever your big secret is, you can tell me. You don't have to worry about me repeating it because shit Dean, I don't have anyone to tell."

A renewed wave of guilt spread through him, weaving its way between the devastation and the sense of loss. Again his throat constricted with unexpressed emotion and he couldn't respond right away. She took advantage of his inability to speak and kept arguing her case.

"And if you think I'll judge you or get scared off, I already told you that won't happen," she continued. "No matter what it is."

Dean realized she wasn't going to just accept his decision and let him go. Not that he could blame her; he didn't want to let what they had go either but he had the advantage of knowing it was going to end one way or another no matter what he did.

"Look," he said, steeling his heart against what was to come. "I had fun but I'm just ready to move on. I like you but…I don't love you. It's just not gonna work long term."

He would have had to have been blind to have missed the hurt that washed over her face at the cold words. She was agonizingly quiet for a long moment, tears welling in her lower lids. She never took her eyes off his face and he could see the barely perceptible flutter of witheld sobs quivering in her cheeks. She finally swallowed hard and spoke, but her voice cracked as the words came out in little more than a whisper.

"Dean don't do this," she pleaded, the first tear breaking loose to slide down her cheek.

"Tash, I'm sorry," he rasped, taking an instinctive step towards her but stopping himself short. He struggled to rein himself in and balled his hand into a fist at his side to keep it from reaching back out towards her.

He could see her shoulders and posture stiffening as she drew on her inner reserves of strength. She wiped the wet streak on her cheek roughly with the back of her hand. "Fine," she said tensely.

Dean's heart twisted in a sickening knot at her acceptance. Even though it was what he had been aiming for, it was a bittersweet victory. "You can have the room," he offered. "Sam and I'll leave right away."

"No," Tasha contested. "I'll leave. Just give me a few minutes to get my stuff."

Her voice was painfully close to breaking again so Dean decided to get out while he was ahead. He nodded and headed for the door. Halfway out he paused, turning around as he stood on the threshold. "Don't worry," he assured her, "We'll still keep searching for Diego."

"At this point Dean, I really don't care if Diego finds me or not."

Dean sighed, wishing the pain in his chest would go away. "Tasha I…"

"Just go."

He bit back the rest of his sentence and gave her one last look, studying her every feature in an attempt to burn the image into his memory forever. Then he turned away and closed the door behind him with a soft click.

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Sam was perched on the hood of the Impala just outside the motel room door when Dean emerged. He heard his older brother's promise to find Diego but couldn't make out the muffled reply from the girl inside. Dean closed the door and caught Sam's eye when he turned around. Sam's heart skipped a beat at the sight, the depths of anguish and loss on his brother's face matching those from the days after their father had died.

Dean looked down quickly, taking a few steps forward to stand in front of Sam. "It's done," he said quietly, his jaw set tight and his voice raspy with restrained emotion. "I'm gonna go get her a car," he told the taller hunter before turning swiftly away.

He only got a few steps along the motel porch when he stopped and turned back to Sam. "Make sure she's okay?" he said, phrasing it in the form of a question. Sam nodded in silent assurance and watched his brother walk stiffly towards the swanky subdivision up the street.

Sam didn't know what to expect when he opened the door. Part of him thought he would find her throwing things and fuming in a tirade of scorned rage but the majority of him expected exactly what he did find. Tasha was sitting on the floor with her back to the wall, her arms curled around her bent knees and her head down, heaving sobs wracking her body.

He was fairly certain she didn't even noticed him come in for she never looked up or stopped crying. He only hesitated for the briefest instant before moving over to her side and sliding his back down the wall until he was sitting in the floor next to her.

She glanced up at him, her eyes bleary and her face streaked with free-running tears. Sam's stomach turned with grief and pity at what both she and his brother were going through and a wave of anger hit him at the injustice of it all. They loved each other, they deserved each other, and yet here he was, watching them tear themselves and each other to pieces because fate had other plans for them both. Plans that apparently didn't include happiness or peace.

Sam could see the disappointment reflected in her eyes when she saw it was him sitting next to her and not Dean returning to say he'd made a mistake. She didn't say anything, however, and simply put her head back down on her knees and continued crying. He swallowed hard, trying to keep tears from welling up in his own eyelids and fought the urge to put his arm around her.

_Not yet_ , he thought. _Let her get it out first_.  She knew he was there if she needed him.

After what seemed like an interminably long time, the heavy sobbing lessened and the shuddering in her shoulders quelled. Although she still never looked up, she leaned slightly towards him, her arm and her knee resting against his much larger frame. He took that as his cue and lifted an arm up and around her shoulders, pulling her in towards him.

She leaned into his chest, almost collapsing wearily against him. A fresh bout of sobs escaped her throat but this time her tears were shed directly into the folds of Sam's shirt, her hand twisting into the soft fabric. Sam draped his other arm around her too and held her gently, murmuring soothing sounds to the top of her head.

Finally she seemed to gain some semblance of control over her emotions as her breath evened out and the sniffling stopped. She relaxed her fisted grip and he felt her sink more heavily into his hold, where she stayed silently for a few more minutes.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled eventually, pulling away and leaning back against the wall next to him.

"So am I," he replied, his one arm still around her shoulders.

"I really didn't see this coming," she admitted with a feeble attempt at a laugh.

Sam didn't reply, knowing there was nothing he could say that would help ease her pain right now. He hoped his presence would provide some small measure of comfort, even if it just meant she wasn't alone. He knew being alone was an issue for her and she had basically just been told she would have to face it again as of today.

As if reading his mind, she spoke again, this time on that very subject.

"Remember what I told you about feeling so alone when nobody believed me about foster-dad number six?" she asked, her voice a raspy whisper.

"Yeah," Sam acknowledged.

"Well, I haven't felt that way once since I met Dean. Not once since I started traveling with him." She wiped at her face with her sleeve. "With you both," she added, though Sam realized with a sharp pang that she really meant Dean. "It was weird, because the very day I lost the last member of my family, it was like I found a new one."

They had met her right after Diego had killed her aunt. "It was like God was looking out for me for once," she continued, surprising Sam because she hadn't mentioned God before and he had been under the impression she wasn't a believer.

Sam remained silent, not knowing of any words to comfort her.

"I love him, you know," she said softly, clearly talking about Dean. "I almost told him that a few times but I've never said those words to anyone and I chickened out." She gave a little snort and a huff of humorless laughter escaped. "Glad I didn't," she declared. "Boy, would I have looked like an idiot."

Sam badly wanted to tell her that his brother loved her too but couldn't go against Dean's wishes. This was definitely bad but not as bad as when Sheldon had killed Dean in front of her in the dream. As unbelievable as it seemed, this was the kinder thing to do to her.

"Did I do something wrong?" she asked suddenly, sparing a quick, apprehensive look up at the hunter sitting next to her.

"No," Sam said quickly. "No, Tasha, it's just the way he is. It's not that he doesn't care it's just…"

"It's just that he does," she finished.

Sam nodded, realizing she knew Dean too well to completely believe the 'it was just a fling' thing.

"I feel so pathetic," she chuckled, the sound almost sounding like real mirth this time. "Here I am getting dumped by a guy and I acted like one of those clingy girlfriends that refuses to accept it."

Sam smiled down at her, relieved at the more familiar tone in her voice. "You gonna go all Glen Close on my brother?"

She grinned. "Don't tempt me."

Sam sighed. "If it's any consolation, he knows it's his loss."

She leaned her head against his shoulder. "Thanks," she said with genuine-sounding gratitude. "You know, I kinda love you Sam Winchester."

Sam knew how she meant the phrase, casual and friendly with a hint of a tease aimed at embarrassing him, but his heart still fluttered and the words still managed to send a pleasant shiver down his spine.

"I'm gonna miss you," she said more seriously.

Sam leaned down and kissed the top of her head. "Me too," he said softly.

They sat like that, together against the wall on the motel room floor for what seemed like a long, long time but was probably no more than half an hour before Tasha spoke again.

"So where'd he go?" There was no need to elaborate on who she was referring to.

"I think he went to steal you a car."

Clearly trying to sound lighthearted but failing miserably, Tasha replied. "Well, I hope he gets a red one; he knows I like red and sporty."

As if on cue, heavy footsteps approached the motel door but stopped just outside. The person stood still for a long minute and a half, the air heavy with his booted stillness, before moving away. Sam let out a deep exhale and realized when he heard Tasha doing the same that they had both been holding their breath in anticipation.

Sam lifted his arm out from behind the brunette and pushed himself up off the floor. "I'll just see what's going on," he said solemnly as he headed towards the door. Tasha made no move to get up or follow.

Outside, on the motel porch, Dean was standing about ten feet away from the door, fidgeting uncomfortably. Sam couldn't help but notice the shiny red Mazda Miata parked right next to the Impala.

Red and sporty.

His heart almost cried at the implications of Dean's choice of stolen vehicle. Dean had always only ever been able to express affection through actions rather than words. Sam had been too blind to pick up on that fact and appreciate all Dean had done for him in their younger years but Tasha would surely note the specific selection of Dean's thievery and the obvious sentiment behind it. Though his brother's intentions had been good, the little gesture would make things that much worse and that much more confusing for Tasha.

Dean handed him a set of keys. "Tell her the tank's full and the owner's in Bermuda for two more weeks so it won't be reported stolen for a while," he said.

"How'd you manage… never mind." His brother's resourcefulness shouldn't surprise him any more. He took the keys. Obviously Dean had no intention of giving them to Tasha himself. "Dean, are you sure about this?" he asked, knowing this was his brother's last chance to change his mind.

Dean nodded. "It's for the best, Sam," he said. "She doesn't need to know what's coming my way."

The elder Winchester took one last long look at the closed door.

"You gonna say goodbye?" Sam asked, fidgeting with the keys in his hand and feeling tremendously sorry for his brother.

Dean shook his head. "I'll be in the bar," was all he said as he turned and walked stiffly across the gravel parking lot to the motel bar.

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Dean didn't return from the bar until almost ten o'clock that night. Considering he had started drinking before noon, Sam wasn't surprised at the drunken state his brother was in when he finally returned. The younger Winchester had gone looking for Dean around supper time but had been told curtly that Dean was fine and he was in the middle of hustling some local yokels so lay off and leave him alone. Sam hadn't taken offense and had returned to the empty room with a heavy heart.

He had been pounding away at the keys on his laptop when he heard the unmistakable sound of a repeated attempt to force a key into the motel room lock. The rattling of the handle and the clatter of the keys being dropped twice gave him a warning that Dean was drunk but he hadn't realized just how shitfaced until he swung the door open and saw his brother standing on the stoop, swaying.

"Hey S'my," Dean slurred, practically falling forward into his brother's massive chest. Sam gripped him firmly by the shoulders and half-guided, half-dragged him into the room and over to his bed. He didn't need to give Dean a shove onto the mattress, he simply let go and let gravity do the work for him.

"Dean, man, you okay?" he asked, his voice full of concern.

"Course," Dean mumbled, trying in vain to sit back up. "Fffor a dead man walk-king."

Sam interpreted the drunk-speak with ease. It wasn't the first time he'd seen his brother drunk. It was, however, definately the drunkest he'd seen him.  _Ever_.  He sighed and attempted to take off the inebriated man's boots.

"S'my," Dean continued, growing passive and allowing Sam to hold his foot in the air as he untied his shoes for him.

"Yeah, Dean?" Sam's voice was gentle and held none of the usual judgement or scorn for his brother's current state.

"When I'm dead…" Dean gave up the struggle to sit up and lay back, his arms splayed out on either side of him in defeat. "You have to promishe me you'll find Diego and k-kill him."

"Dean, you're not going to die," Sam said, his voice taking on a distinct tone of begging. "Don't talk like that.  Please." He got the first boot off and moved to the second.

"You hafffta kill him before he getzz Tash," Dean slurred, ignoring Sam's plea.

"Dean…"

"Promise me, S'm!"

"Okay," Sam relented. "Of course. You know I will." He dropped the second foot back down onto the bed. "But Dean, we're gonna find you a way out of this deal. I'm gonna save you and then we'll both go get Diego, okay?"

But Dean's eyes were closed and his breath had evened out to the slow, steady pace of a drunken stupor. He lay sprawled on the bed and Sam stood over him for a long time, staring down at what remained of his family and growing more determined than ever to find a way to save the stubborn bastard. Dean had been dealt one blow after another his whole life and never complained. He'd thrown his life away, no his _soul_   away, to save Sam and now he had lost something else he loved for that same reason. Sam couldn't let it happen.

Sam grabbed Dean's coat from the back of the chair and draped it over his brother, his heart swelling with the realization of how much he loved him, how much he needed him. He sat himself back down in front of his laptop and continued the research he had been doing before the whirlwind that was hurt-scared-drunk Dean had interrupted him.

He grabbed his father's journal and opened it to a page near the beginning. There it was. The solution.

Doc Benton. Born in 1816 but still alive in the 1990's for John Winchester to take a crack at. If Sam could keep Dean alive, he could keep him out of Hell.

This could work. It was crazy and it was far-fetched and Dean would never go for it, but if the clues were accurate, then this could be Dean's only chance.

He let his gaze drift back to the gently snoring Winchester sleeping off his pain-induced bender and made up his mind. He _needed_   to keep Dean alive.

He would let Dean sleep it off then in the morning, he would drag his brother's hungover ass out of bed and get to work on saving his life and getting him out of this insanely unfair deal once and for all.

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…(this leads into the cannon episode Time is on My Side)…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That is the end of Part 1! Hope you enjoyed. The next chapter starts the second part, which picks up over 3 months later while Dean is in Hell.


	14. PART 2 - Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to CrazyLadyin Vegas and Masa for commenting on the story - very glad you are liking it. Thanks to those of you who left kudos also, and for everyone who's read Part 1 so far; I hope you enjoy part 2 also! Here goes...

**P A R T 2**

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The relentless heat of the late-July sun hung like a heavy blanket over Singer Auto Salvage, displaying itself as a thin layer of blurry haze outlining the stacks of rusty cars. Bobby sat at his kitchen table nursing an equally warm glass of scotch, his shoulders slumped and beads of sweat lining his brow. He watched a housefly land on the sticky rim of his glass but couldn't be bothered enough to lift an arm to swat it away. It was barely noon and he was already on his fourth drink but if routine was any indication, he was just getting started.

On this day, however, his usual routine of attempting to drink away thoughts of Dean Winchester roasting in Hell was interrupted when a soft knock sounded at his front door. He ignored it at first, cursing that he hadn't replaced his guard dog when the demon Meg had killed him a couple of years ago and hoping whoever it was would just go away.

A low growl actually escaped his lips when a second, much louder series of knocks rattled his front door but he rose wearily to his feet and straightened his trucker's cap as he shuffled his way over to answer it. He yanked it open with a scowl and a bad-tempered "What do you want?" and his eyes narrowed in suspicion at what he found.

Standing on his porch was a girl in her mid-twenties, a slim brunette in denim shorts and a t-shirt. She was pretty in the way-too-skinny way of today's youth, the kind of girl a certain Dean Winchester wouldn't have missed a beat in trying to sweet talk into his bed. Bobby felt a sharp pain in his chest when the thought of the man he had loved like a son passed through his head and he cleared his throat loudly, trying to dispel the image of a cocky, grinning, _alive_ Dean.

"Bobby Singer?" she asked without even flinching at his gruff greeting.

"Who wants to know?" he fired back, trying his best to sound civil. He wasn't so far gone to completely forget his manners in the presence of a woman, after all.

"My name's Natasha," she answered politely, her eyes squinting against the bright sun.

"And?" Bobby didn't budge. He didn't recognize the girl or the name.

"Can I come in?"

His scowl returned and his hunter instincts kicked in. "You got car trouble or something, honey?" he asked suspiciously, peering past her to see a red piece-of-crap Pontiac Fiero at the bottom of his steps.

"No," she answered and he couldn't help but detect a hint of apprehension in her next statement. "I'm here to find out about Dean Winchester," she said quietly, phrasing it almost as a question.

A flicker of recognition suddenly hit Bobby as he studied the girl standing on his porch. Her brown eyes had filled with sadness at the mention of Dean's name and he now remembered something Sam had told him in the last week before the Hellhounds had come for Dean. The younger Winchester had explained that his brother had fallen for the hunter-gal that had been travelling with them for a couple of months and that he had broken it off with her shortly before his year was up, having apparently lost hope that Sam and Bobby would be able to save him and wanting to spare her the knowledge of his fate. The mechanic's memory was slightly clouded by the three whiskeys he'd just polished off but he was fairly certain that girl's name had been Natasha.

His first instinct was to send her away. Renewed anguish struck him at the reminder of Dean, the pain of seeing the boy lying still and bloody in Sam's arms still far too fresh. It had been almost two months but he could still feel the cold, spring rain on his face from the day he and Sam had dug the grave in that Illinois field and he still heard the crippling grief in Sam's voice in the few words the kid had spoken before he'd disappeared altogether. Bobby didn't want to talk about Dean and he definitely didn't want to see first hand what Dean had missed out on.

But he couldn't bring himself to tell her to leave or even to just close the door on her and get back to his daily ritual of whiskey and woe. Dean's death had left him with an emptiness inside, a void so deep it ached from the moment he woke up to when he managed to drink himself to oblivion every night. He found himself inviting her in, guiding her to his kitchen as if having her here could somehow provide kind of renewed connection to the dead hunter.

As was customary when anyone entered the older hunter's home, he offered her a beer secretly doused with holy water. She declined politely as she lowered herself on one of the chairs at his kitchen table, her eyes sweeping the house and taking note of the giant heptogram, the piles of old books and the dozens of empty liquor bottles littering the rooms. To her credit, she didn't seem spooked or weirded out by the state of his home as most visitors did these days. Not that he had many visitors.

Since the beer was turned down, Bobby handed her a holy-water tainted soda instead, not saying a word until she cracked the bottle open and took a long sip. Satisfied she wasn't a demon, he sank into his usual chair across the table and let out a long sigh. "So what can I do for you?" he asked her, curling his fingers around his whiskey glass again.

"I know Sam and Dean," she started, holding his gaze. "I met a hunter in Texas yesterday who said…" her voice hitched, "…he said that he heard Dean Winchester was dead."

Her eyes were dark and soft and pleading for Bobby to tell her that it wasn't true, that Dean was still alive. He felt a lump forming in his throat as she looked at him for an answer and found himself desperately not wanting to give it to her. He knew the effect Dean could have on the people around him, even if the stubborn kid had been too blind to see it for himself. He was sure there was a string of broken hearts across the country and back but this one…this one Dean had loved in return. Sam had been so sure of it.

"It's true," he said simply, his face impassive but his eyes gentle. "He's gone."

He saw her jaw tighten and her shoulders stiffen but she never moved and never said a word. Bobby didn't say anything either but got up and retrieved a glass from his cabinet, placing it gently down on the table. He poured a stiff measure of whisky and slid the glass over towards her. He noticed her hands were trembling but she managed a weak smile as she picked up the glass and downed the whisky in one shot. He refilled her glass and took a big swallow of his own drink.

"What happened?" she asked him, her voice strained but steady.

"What'd you hear?" he questioned, not wanting to tell her anything Dean hadn't wanted her to know.

"Well, the hunter I met said Dean had traded his soul with a demon for Sam's life and Hellhounds came for him a couple of months ago," she managed. "I tried to call Sam but his number's been disconnected and then I remembered they used to talk about you a lot…" she trailed off.

Bobby sighed again. "Well, that's pretty much all there is to tell," he shrugged.

She closed her eyes and bit her lip. "So he's in Hell?" Now her voice was shaky and Bobby was suddenly terrified she was about to lose it in the middle of his kitchen.

He just nodded. Sam had mentioned she was a hunter and Bobby wondered how much she knew about demon deals and Hell. He felt a quick pang of guilt as it occurred to him the Winchesters had asked him four months ago to search for some age-old vamp named Diego that was stalking the girl but he hadn't even given the subject a second thought since Dean had died. He made a mental note to rectify that situation – it was the least he could do for Dean. It wasn't like the kid had ever asked him for much.

They sat in silence for a good ten to fifteen minutes. Bobby topped up her glass three more times and his own twice before she finally spoke again.

"I need to talk to Sam," she declared finally with a good measure of resolve. "How can I get a hold of him?"

Bobby shrugged again. "Damned if I know," he said, shaking his head. "Kid don't wanna be found. He vanished into the wind a few days after we buried Dean."

She looked up sharply. "You buried him? No salt and burn?"

The mechanic nodded. He hadn't approved of the dumb-ass move but Sam had insisted and Bobby hadn't had the heart to refuse him.

"Where?" she demanded.

"Were what?"

"Where's he buried?"

Bobby figured the information couldn't hurt Dean any and might make moving on a little easier on her if she got to say goodbye so he told her how to get to the remote field in Illinois with the simple wooden cross placed in the center a small cluster of trees.

She got up to leave, thanking him briskly but he stopped her before she made it two steps away from the kitchen table.

"Hey!" he groused, beckoning her back. "I can't be lettin' you drive on outta here after pumpin' ya full of whisky. Sit back down and I'll fix ya somethin' to eat to wash it down."

She didn't look particularly comfortable with staying but Bobby had a no-nonsense kind of tone when he barked an order and she sat back down with a wary look on her face. Bobby got the feeling she wasn't the sharing-caring type and would rather be alone in her grief right now but he was suddenly overcome with the urge to get to know this girl a bit before he let her go. She represented a little piece of Dean he hadn't seen and he desperately wanted any piece of Dean he could get at this point. Anything to fill that void inside of him because alcohol just wasn't doing the damn job.

"So," he began as he moved over to his fridge, sounding almost cheerful in his effort to put her at ease. "You were in Texas yesterday? You musta drove all night then."

She simply nodded at him as he slapped a loaf of bread on the counter and rummaged for something edible to put on it. He kept right on talking. "I heard you almost sliced Dean's neck open first time you met those Winchester boys," he said. "That the truth?"

"Yes, sir," she answered, giving him half a smile. "Stubborn ass refused to admit it though."

For the first time in two months, Bobby felt the corners of his mouth turning upwards.

"Yep, that sounds like Dean alright."

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Sam hit a deep rut as he made his way down the rough track to Dean's field and winced at the sharp jolt the Impala received as a result.

_Dean's field._

He wasn't sure when his mind had started calling it that. He hadn't been back here since the rainy day he and Bobby had put his brother into that wooden box and left him here to rot. Except Dean wasn't here. Sam woke up every day with the acute and painful realization that Dean wasn't resting eternally in some peaceful field near Pontiac, Illinois. Dean was in Hell.

It had been two months. Granted, there weren't two months of memories to accompany the time since his brother had died because Sam had spent most of it drunk and angry and trying to forget, but two months had passed all the same. He was still drinking heavily but Ruby showing up had made a difference and he had actually managed to pull himself somewhat together. He had put an end to the string of foolhardy, brash, and basically suicidal attempts he had been making to get Dean out of the pit and was focusing more on something that he was certain would prove less futile – killing Lilith.

He still had every intention of saving Dean but he had become a willing and even eager pupil as Ruby tried to teach him how to put his physic abilities to good use. Even if they didn't end up helping him to save Dean, they would surely come in handy when he finally tracked down that Lilith bitch and ended her. She was the reason he was alone, the reason he had this hole inside where his brother used to be, the reason Dean was suffering through God-knows what degree of torment in the pit. Yes, tearing Lilith to pieces was going to be fun and he found himself thinking about that moment more and more with each day that passed, the seething anger building up inside of him with every hour he was awake.

He pulled over and cut the Impala's engine at the end of the trail, feeling briefly guilty about driving the rough road much faster than his brother would have in the classic beauty. His attention, however, was fixed on the empty car that was already there – an old, beat-up Fiero. Dean's field was in the middle of nowhere so what the hell was another car doing here? Friggin' rednecks were probably using it for target practice.

He climbed the fence and strolled over to the cluster of trees at the far end, feeling an unidentifiable tension gripping his heart tighter and tighter as he approached. He realized he was dreading seeing that makeshift cross and wasn't sure what had made him decide to return to the field today. Perhaps it was just the first day in two months he hadn't started off with a shot of whiskey. Or maybe it was the voice inside him that he was trying to ignore, the one telling him what he was doing with Ruby was wrong, that it was changing him and he needed to be reminded of who he used to be, the Sam his brother had loved. Could be that he just wanted to punish himself some more, give himself a fresh reminder of exactly what he had lost the day the Hellhounds came. Or perhaps he just needed some renewed inspiration to find Lilith and destroy her using any means necessary, including taking sips of demon blood from Ruby's arm. Whatever the reason, he found himself here.

He stopped short when he reached the edge of the trees, his hunter's instincts alerting him before he actually saw anyone. He peered warily into the clearing before him. There was someone there – someone sitting on the ground in front of Dean's grave. He wondered fleetingly if it was Bobby because nobody else knew where Dean was but he realized right away the figure was too small to be the burly mechanic and recognized it Tasha.

He remained where he was for a moment, watching unnoticed in silence, unaware of the fact that he was holding his breath until his heart began to thump so loudly in protest that it hurt. She was silent but from his vantage point behind her, he could see her shoulders were shaking as she sat cross-legged three feet in front of the wooden cross and he knew right away she was crying.

He hadn't seen her in almost three months. Not since the day Dean had done her the favor of lying to her and sending her away so she wouldn't have to go through the pain that Sam was now enduring. Sam's heart skipped a beat with pity for it was apparent by her grief and her mere presence here that she had found out after all. He tried to make his feet walk his body forward but they just didn't seem to want to move. A thousand thoughts ran through his brain at the prospect of seeing her again and he wasn't sure if he really really wanted to or really really didn't.

If he was being honest, he'd hardly thought about her since the day Dean's deal had come due as he had been completely swallowed in his own grief and anger, not to mention a good mix of whiskey, rum, and vodka. But watching her now as she sat crying all alone, he realized he badly wanted to comfort her and it was only partly to do with the fact that his brother would have wanted him to.

He finally swallowed his apprehension and rustled some leaves with his foot to subtly warn her of his approach. The ruse worked and she spun around, her hand moving to the waistline of her jeans where Sam knew there was a knife and maybe even a gun tucked under the hem of her t-shirt. He stepped forward out of the tree line with a halfhearted smile, holding his hands in the air.

Her eyes widened in recognition and she cried out as she jumped to her feet. "Sam! Oh my God, Sam!"

The next thing he knew she had her arms wrapped around his neck so tightly he could hardly breathe and gasping sobs intermingled with what sounded like giggles were tickling his neck. He had an easy eight inches of height advantage so he hunched over to return the hug, not really sure yet if she was laughing or crying. Her face had been tear-streaked when she had first turned around but she definitely seemed happy to see him.

They stood wrapped in a tight embrace in the clearing for what Sam thought seemed like a long but entirely wonderful time. He realized it had been a while since he had experienced any emotion other than grief and anger and the emptiness and ugliness of his life the past two months seemed to dissipate just a tiny little bit with every second he held her soft, warm body in his arms. The way she was clinging to him was refreshing, giving him a feeling of being needed, of friendship and compassion and softness and something other than anger and thoughts of revenge. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed this, how alone and cut off he'd been lately.

She finally pulled away and he could see her eyes were still watering but she was smiling up at him.

"Sorry," she said sheepishly. "I didn't know I'd find you here." She gestured behind her towards the grave. "I just….I just found out…" she trailed off, turning back to Sam with a heartbreakingly sorrowful expression in her eyes. "I'm so sorry, Sam. Are you okay?"

Sam gave her a reassuring smile. He hadn't cried since the day his brother had been ripped to shreds and putting on a brave face now came as second nature to him. "I'm alright," he said softly. "How'd you find out?"

"I'm a hunter, Sam," she admonished. "Hunters talk. Did you really think I'd never hear about the one who made a crossroads deal to save his little brother?"

Sam shrugged apologetically. In hindsight, they should have known. With the surprising exception of the Winchesters, Tasha had made a lifelong habit of not forming lasting bonds so that Diego couldn't go after friends to find out her whereabouts. But she did run into to other hunters and like she said, hunters talk.

"You here to see…Dean?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah."

"I'll leave you alone, then" she offered with a glance back at the cross. "But uh, Sam? Would you mind if I waited for you at the car? Maybe we could catch up a little?"

Sam surprised himself with the next words that came out of his mouth. "You don't have to go," he told her. "You loved him too. Stay."

She hesitated but when he took the few steps forward to put himself before the cross, he found her next to him. She sat on the grass and pulled his arm down until he was sitting next to her. Sam glanced over at her awkwardly and was just starting to regret his invitation when she started talking.

"Hey Dean," she said casually to the two pieces of wood in front of them. "Look who I found."

Sam chuckled uncomfortably. "Yeah," he said apologetically. "It's been a while."

"Can you tell me what happened?" Tasha asked suddenly, no longer addressing the cross.

Sam's eyes widened with apprehension. He hadn't talked about the day Dean had died to anyone. Ruby had been helping him get through the pain and the grief but mostly by distraction. They would talk about Lilith and demons and Sam's powers and then they usually ended up just fucking. She didn't ask about Dean much. Talking about Dean was painful and Sam preferred to avoid it whenever possible.

But Tasha deserved to know and what she deserved really mattered to Sam. He couldn't deny he had cared about her when she had been traveling with him and Dean. Maybe a little too much. He remembered being really confused the last couple of days she was with them, after the time they had all had sex in the Impala's back seat. He'd even thought he was in love with her. Maybe that had just been because she was the only girl he'd ever spent any real time with besides Jessica and it had been a case of a lack of options or maybe it had been real. He couldn't be sure now; the memories were slightly foggy and it all seemed like such a long time ago. A lifetime ago.

He told her everything. He started talking hesitantly but before long the words just seemed to come tumbling out. He told her the whole story about Yellow-Eyes and the other psychic kids and Jake killing him and Dean making the deal. He told her about Ruby but left out the part that Ruby had reappeared since Dean's death because her reaction to the decision to befriend a demon was less than favorable. Apparently she held the same blind distrust in anything demon that Dean had. He told her why his brother had ended things with her and that Dean had made Sam promise to keep looking for Diego.

"I'm sorry," he whispered guiltily. "I haven't done much digging on the Diego front recently."

"I wouldn't expect you to," she immediately let him off the hook. "Diego's the last thing on my mind right now too." She hooked her arm in his. "Were you there?" she asked quietly. "When it happened?"

Sam nodded.

"I'm so sorry, Sam," she repeated.

He sighed and told her about the day Dean's year was up. He recounted how they had found out Lilith was the one with his contract but she had escaped and the Hellhounds killed Dean. He repeated what his brother's last words of instruction to Sam had been, to keep hunting and explained to Tasha that he was doing exactly that.

By the time he finished, tears were freely coursing down his face. She was leaning on his shoulder, her brown eyes newly wet with fresh tears of her own. He finished speaking but it wasn't until he sniffed that he realized he was crying and he wiped the streaks hastily away with the back of his hand.

They sat in silence for a long time until he felt her fingers graze his neck. He looked down to see her sliding Dean's amulet up and out from under his t-shirt and wondered how'd she had known it was there. He didn't say anything and she held it carefully in her hands for a moment, studying it before dropping it back down and pressing it onto his chest with her hand.

"He should be wearing that," Sam croaked. "I should have saved him. I told him I'd save him."

She shook her head. "You did all you could, Sam," she disagreed. "Besides, you know how he was. He'd do the same thing over again if he got another chance. This isn't your fault. Lilith and Yellow-Eyes killed him, not you."

Sam didn't reply, not in the least convinced she was right. He looked up and realized the sun had all but disappeared below the horizon and darkness was approaching quickly. He pulled his arm free of her grasp and moved to get up. "We should get going," he said.

She didn't argue and stood up with him. They both gave the cross a long, lingering look before moving out of the clearing and back through the trees. They were halfway back through the field to the cars before Sam thought to ask where she was staying.

"I don't have a place. I'll probably just head back to Texas," she shrugged.

"It's late to start a drive that long," he pointed out. "Why don't you stick around 'til morning? I got a room in Pontiac."

He was caught unawares at how badly he didn't want her to leave just yet. Her presence had somehow reminded him of things he'd somehow forgotten, things about Dean but also things about himself. The way he used to be before Dean had died and before he had started fucking a demon and drinking demon blood and thinking of nothing but taking his revenge on Lilith. She was a connection to the way he used to be and he suddenly came to realize he wasn't as ready to throw that Sam away as he had thought.

He gave her a pleading look and she smiled at him and nodded. "No girl can resist those puppy dog eyes of yours, Sam Winchester," she laughed as she climbed the fence and slid a key into the Fiero's door. "Alright, I'll follow you back to town but the pizza's on me tonight."

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	15. Chapter 15

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Tasha answered the knock at the motel room door and paid the delivery man, taking a big sniff of the pizza box as she kicked the door shut behind her with her foot. "I can smell the pineapple," she declared. "Dean never let you get Hawaiian, ' _no fruit allowed on real food_ ' remember?" She winked at him. "You little rebel, you."

Sam gave her a tight lipped smile, sadly remembering the hundreds of teases Dean had thrown his way over the years because he liked pineapple on his pizza.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I don't mean to keep bringing him up. That just sort of came out…"

"Nah, it's alright," Sam dismissed with a wave of his hand. "It's funny but I think it actually helps a bit to talk about him. I haven't really been able to since it happened and I don't know why, but it feels alright with you."

"Grief knits two hearts in closer bonds than happiness ever can," Tasha said absently, pulling at the messy strings of cheese that just wouldn't seem to break off her slice.

Sam raised an eyebrow in surprise and chuckled. "Did you seriously just quote De Lamartine?"

Tasha shrugged sheepishly, unable to answer with her mouth full.

"Dean never mentioned you were so up on your French poets," he teased.

She grinned back at him. "I restrict my quotes to Metallica and Zeppelin for your brother," she admitted. "My mom loved poetry."

She took another bite and her face grew serious again. "Speaking of parental figures," she continued, "that Bobby guy's really worried about you."

Sam let out a long exhale, grabbing his slice and leaning back in his chair. "I know," he confessed. "But I just can't be around him right now."

"Why not?" Tasha never was one to beat around the bush. "He seemed nice. He made me eat and even changed the oil on my car before he let me leave."

"He is nice. He's like a dad to me but he just worries too much. He was pretty messed up about Dean too but his solution was to focus on making sure I was okay. Problem was... I wasn't. I was anything but okay and the last thing I wanted to keep hearing was how it would get better with time and how we had to keep truckin'."

Tasha nodded slowly in understanding as he spoke. "Well, I have a feeling the only truckin' he's doing is down into a bottle of whiskey," she said and Sam's heart lurched at the painful revelation.

"He wouldn't have understood what I was doing," he defended, as much to convince himself as Tasha.

"What do you mean?"

Sam swallowed. "I was trying to get Dean out," he divulged.

"Out?"

"Out of Hell. I was trying to save him." He wasn't going to sound apologetic because he wasn't sorry.

Tasha stopped chewing and stared intently at him for a long moment. She finally swallowed her bite and put the last bit of her slice down. "Did you try to make another crossroads deal?"

"Yes," the hunter admitted.

"Dean wouldn't want that, Sam."

"I know!" he almost snapped. "But I seriously doubt he wants to burn in Hell for eternity either."

"Is it even possible?" she breathed. "Getting someone out of Hell?" Her look was mostly one of skepticism but Sam recognized a glimmer of hope in her eyes and suddenly felt guilty for letting that happen.

"No," he answered with certainty. "I tried everything. It just can't be done."

Tasha's face fell, grief taking control over her pretty features again. She sighed and slumped in her chair, glancing over at the king size bed.

"I'm beat," she said, sounding genuinely tired. "I haven't slept since I found out. You mind if I hit the hay?"

Sam shook his head. "Of course not. You take the bed," he offered. "I'll take the floor."

She rolled her eyes. "It's a king size, Sam. We're grown ups. You even try to sleep on the floor and I will kick your ass in the morning," she warned, grabbing her backpack and heading to the washroom to change.

She was fast asleep within ten minutes but Sam remained seated at the table for a long time afterwards, nibbling at the pizza and watching her sleep. He had stopped asking for a double room after the first week alone because staring all night long at the emptiness of the second bed had been pure torture. Besides, Ruby often showed up these days and a king size came in handy when the energetic demon was in an amorous mood.

His mind was still spinning a little with Tasha's unexpected re-entry into his bleak existence. It was as if a tiny ray of sunshine had been allowed to sneak past a set of thick, tightly-drawn curtains. Problem was, in a way he had been getting used to the darkness.

He had told her almost everything but hadn't been able to admit that he was working with Ruby and using his powers to exorcize demons. He had no intention of ever telling her about ingesting drops of demon-blood to enhance those powers. He realized that by not telling her he was admitting to himself that what he was doing was wrong but he somehow knew what her reaction would be. She would say exactly what Dean and Bobby would say – that the end doesn't justify the means.

He closed his eyes and listened to the soft sounds of her slumbering breath and was struck by how nice it was to have some company. Most of the time he thought he was fine; propelling his way through every day with determination and anger often replacing food and sleep as fuel. He had a goal, a purpose, a mission to channel all his rage and pain into.  Killing Lilith. But there were moments when he felt so incredibly alone. Those fleeting instances when he was behind the wheel of the Impala and looked over to find the passenger seat empty or when he ordered a double half-caff latte and waited for the teasing snort that never came or when he checked into a motel with 'magic fingers' and realized he wouldn't be annoyed by the sound of quarters being pumped in and the droning vibration. Tasha reminded him of Dean. Somehow her being here was making him feel closer to his brother. Like some small piece of Dean was back in the land of the living – that small piece he had given Tasha when he had fallen in love with her. And having even that small piece of Dean around seemed to loosen the grip that hate and vengeance had on Sam.

He was still sitting at the table hours later, his face bathed in the pale light from his laptop screen, when he heard a quiet knock on the door. He jumped to his feet and sprinted over to the peephole, his hand reaching around to the demon-killing knife at the small of his back.

 _Damnit._ It was Ruby.

He answered it quickly, pressing his finger to his lips to shush the demon before she could make a noise. He stepped out of the room, forcing her backwards as he did so and closed the door softly behind him.

"What's going on, Sam?" she asked, her annoyance clear. "Why can't I come in? What, did you pick up some skank in a bar? Thought that was your brother's thing."

"Ruby, shut up," he retorted, not rising to the bait. "I got a hunter friend crashing in my room, that's all."

Technically it wasn't a lie. He and Ruby weren't exactly a couple since they never talked relationship crap but he didn't feel up to explaining Tasha's presence and he grudgingly admitted to himself that the demon would be jealous, justified or not.

"What's up?" he demanded, changing the subject. "Got any new leads on Lilith?"

Ruby narrowed her eyes and pouted, clearly not thrilled with the less than enthusiastic welcome she had received. "Isn't that why you're here?" she snipped.

"Isn't what why I'm here?"

She studied him for a moment, her arms folded across her chest. "Okay, maybe I was wrong," she said finally. "I thought you knew. Remember that demon named Succorbenoth?"

Sam nodded, his interest piqued. "The gate demon? The one that Yellow-Eyes used to make the devil's gate?" He was referring to the devil's gate in Wyoming that Samuel Colt had shut down by surrounding it with a giant devil's trap made out of iron railway tracks.

"Yep, the gate that you and Dean let get opened and Lilith got out of."

Sam gave her an unimpressed look but didn't say anything. She could get bitchy when she was annoyed with him and he wasn't in the mood for her demon sense of humor. She had informed him a couple of weeks ago that Lilith had been one of the hundreds of demons that had escaped when Jake had opened the gate and Sam's sense of responsibility for that event had further intensified his determination to destroy the white-eyed demon.

"Anyway," she continued with a huff, sulking at not being able to get a reaction from the hunter. "He's also in direct contact with Lilith," she informed him. "And he's supposed to be here, in town. If we find him, he may be able to give us a lead on where Lilith is or at least what her plans are. And he'll be good practice for you."

Sam's heart skipped a beat as the new information sank in and not because they may have a lead on Lilith. "If he's here, I'm not gonna exorcize him," he breathed as his eyes widened. "I can bind him and maybe I can use him to get Dean out of Hell!" The pitch and volume of his voice both rose in his mounting excitement.

Ruby groaned and shook her head. "Sam, I thought you were past that. You know it can't be done. I've told you, there isn't anything powerful enough to bring a human soul out of Hell. You tried everything. Let's focus on killing Lilith."

Sam ignored her, his heart thumping loudly in his chest. "He can pull Dean out."

"It's too dangerous, Sam."

"I don't care!" Sam hissed. "If there's a chance I can get Dean back, I'm taking it! If you don't want to help then don't. I'll just do it alone!"

The motel door behind him opened sharply and Sam spun to see Tasha standing there wide-eyed in her t-shirt and sweats. "You won't be alone, Sam," she announced. "I'll help."

Ruby's eyes narrowed as she took in the sight of the pretty brunette. "Hunter friend, huh?" she spat at Sam, not bothering to hide her disapproval.

"Oh, uh…it's not like that," Tasha said quickly, looking back and forth between Sam and Ruby and clearly assuming they had something going. "We're just friends."

Ruby shrugged. "None of my business," she said curtly. "We're just friends too." She wagged her finger between her and Sam. "Right, Sam?"

Sam groaned, not missing the sarcasm. He really didn't have the patience for this.

Tasha turned back to the tall hunter. "Tell me I heard right," she demanded. "You think you've got a way to get Dean back?"

Sam hesitated, not sure what to say. Finding and binding Succorbenoth was going to be insanely dangerous and he wouldn't be able to forgive himself if he let Tasha get killed. Not to mention that Dean would be devastated if he made it out of the pit to find that she had died trying to save him.

"We should take this party inside," Ruby suggested suddenly, nudging him from behind. "Before we wake the neighbors. It's the middle of the night."

Tasha frowned impatiently but stepped back into the room. Sam followed and Ruby brought up the rear, closing and locking the door behind her.

"Sam?" Tasha urged, clearly wanting an answer.

"Hi," Ruby interrupted again, introducing herself and giving Tasha a little wave. "I'm Chrissie, by the way. Sam forgets his manners sometimes."

"Natasha." Tasha smiled politely but never took her eyes off Sam.

"Look, Tasha," Sam said slowly. "I don't know what I've got a lead on. Let me just check it out and I'll call you in a couple of days if the information pans out."

Tasha shook her head. "No way. If you have a lead on a way to bring Dean back to life, I'm staying right here."

"Uh, I'm pretty sure this is out of your league, sister," Ruby interjected. "Do you even know what's involved here?"

Tasha narrowed her eyes at the demon. "I'm a hunter," she said coolly. "I can handle myself so why don't you let me decide what's in my league?"

Ruby snorted but Sam interrupted before things escalated. "Can we just play nice?" he asked them both. "Tasha, Chrissy's right, this is too dangerous for any of us."

"That's not what you said on the porch." Tasha argued. "I don't know who this Succorbenoth is but like I said, I'm a hunter, so I can damn well find out." She gave Sam a hard stare. "I know what you're doing," she accused. "I appreciate that you're trying to look out for me but if there's even a tiny chance that we can do something to help Dean, I'm in. I don't care about the risks."

She held his gaze, her brown eyes hard and determined and Sam knew he had no choice but to let her help. He'd rather she stay safe but he wasn't going to miss this golden opportunity no matter what. Tasha obviously hadn't realized she had won for she continued pleading her case.

"I love him too, Sam," she argued more quietly. "I'd give my life to save him just like you would so you can't ask me not to try if there's a way to get him out of there. I know this demon's name so I'm gonna poke around with or without you." She paused and gave him a sly smile when he still didn't answer. "In case you haven't noticed, Sam, you're kinda buff and those bulging biceps of yours might come in handy if things get rough so I'd rather work this thing _with_ you than by myself."

Sam could see Ruby rolling her eyes but her stiff stance was gone, the resentment clearly dropped with the understanding that Tasha had been with Dean and wasn't with Sam. He let out a long sigh and raised a hand in defeat.

"Fine," he caved. "Here's what we know so far."

Sam explained that Succorbenoth was a demon with a special gift. In conjunction with a complicated ritual, he was able to open gateways from Hell. Sam had been looking for him during his drunken rage in the first weeks after Dean had died but had hit a dead end. He had discovered that Succorbenoth was in Hell and therefore, out of range. If 'Chrissy's' intel was correct, then Sam had previously been wrong and the plan was back on the table.

That plan involved capturing him, trapping him in a devil's trap, and performing a binding ritual on him so they could control him and force him to do their bidding. Their bidding, of course, was to open a gate to Hell and bring Dean back topside.

"Can he do that?" Tasha asked.

"Theoretically," Ruby sneered.

"What does that mean?"

Sam shot Ruby a sharp glare. "She means she doesn't think Succorbenoth can find a single soul in all of Hell."

"It's a big place, Sam," Ruby pointed out.

"Do _you_ think he can?" Tasha asked Sam.

Sam shrugged. He really didn't know but he wasn't going to leave Dean to burn if there was even a chance it would work. "It's probably a long shot," he admitted.

Tasha took that as a yes. "Okay, then," she nodded. "Good enough for me." She turned back to Ruby. "So where do we find Succkyboy?"

"Finding him's the easy part," the demon warned. "Then we gotta trap him and, even worse, bind him." She had her hands on her hips as she addressed Tasha. "You ever try to bind a high-level demon?"

Tasha shook her head.

"Well, it ain't no picnic."

"I really don't give a fuck if it's like storming the beach at Normandy if it gets Dean back," Tasha replied evenly.

Sam noticed Ruby's face soften and the demon actually smiled. "I can respect that," she said, sounding genuine and as Sam studied the demon he realized he had yet to figure her out. Sometimes she seemed so demon-ish but then other times, most of the time actually, she really did seem like she cared. Cared about getting rid of Lilith, about saving the hosts of the demons he'd been exorcizing, but mostly about him. He couldn't deny she had saved him from himself in those dark days after Dean had died.

"Okay then" Ruby continued, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "Succky's supposedly holding out with a few low-level lackeys at an abandoned saw mill on the Vermillion River."

Tasha moved over to the chair and snatched up her jeans. "Let's get going," she said, heading to the washroom to change.

As soon as they were alone in the room, Ruby gave Sam an uncertain look. "She know what you can do?" she asked with a hushed voice.

"No," Sam answered, shaking his head fervently. "And I want to keep it that way."

"Hmph. This would be easier if it was just you and me," the demon griped.

"Tasha can hold her own," Sam defended but fell silent as the brunette emerged from the bathroom dressed already and tucking a knife in the back of her jeans. As she put on her boots, he walked over and handed her Ruby's demon-killing knife, ignoring the audible gasp of disapproval that escaped the demon.

"This knife can kill any demon," Sam explained. "If things get ugly, use it."

"Is this the knife you were telling me about earlier?" Tasha asked, pausing to admire the silver blade. "The one you got from Ruby?"

Sam nodded, feeling just a little guilty that she didn't know Ruby was standing right behind him, tapping her foot in extreme displeasure.

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They decided to leave the Fiero at the motel so Tasha climbed into the passenger seat of the Impala with Sam behind the wheel while Ruby got in the back. She let out a cry of surprise when she noticed the newly installed iPod jack on the dash.

"Bout time this car got updated," she smiled in unconvincing approval and Sam didn't miss that she still dragged out Dean's box of cassettes and pushed a Motorhead tape into the old player as the car roared out of the parking lot.

It was only a ten minute drive to pretty much anywhere in Pontiac, Illinois and they arrived at the old saw mill in less than eight. Tasha was digging around in her backpack on the back seat while Sam and Ruby stood at the open trunk getting supplies and Ruby slipped the tall hunter a small flask. He raised his eyebrows in question and she mouthed the word 'blood'. Sam nodded brusquely and took the flask, sneaking a quick sip and slipping it into his pocket before Tasha came around the back of the car.

"Got any chalk?" she asked him. "I'm out."

"Yeah, sure," Sam nodded, handing her a couple of pieces from the Winchesters' well-stocked stash. It was the fastest and easiest way to draw a devil's trap. He tucked a gun and a knife under his jacket and slammed the Impala's trunk shut. "Let's go get this guy," he said curtly, jerking his head for the women to follow as he strode across the street to the chain link fence around the mill yard.

The three launched themselves over the eight foot fence effortlessly, dropping silently to the ground on the far side behind the cover of some overgrown bushes. They made their way to the large, empty building and Sam boosted Tasha up to peek in the dirty but high-up side window. She jumped back down and informed them it looked like a main equipment room that was empty with no signs that anybody or anything had been here recently except perhaps the odd partying teenagers, judging by the sub-par graffiti and the empty beer bottles strewn on the floor.

Sam suggested they sneak inside and lay out a few devil's traps that they could conceal as well as a big one in this main room. Then they would split up and search the place. When they found Succorbenoth, they could just lure him back to this room and snag him in one of the devil's traps. He got no arguments from the girls so he boosted Tasha up first to climb in the window as the door was more exposed and their plan relied on having the element of surprise. Tasha disappeared inside quietly and Ruby boosted Sam up, her demon strength making it easy to hoist the two hundred pound hunter up to window height. To his relief, Tasha never questioned how 'Chrissy' managed to reach the window of her own accord as she was already in the process of spreading a salt line across the exterior door threshold.

The mill was large with a series of buildings all interconnected that housed a loading area by the river, the main equipment area, a smaller office area, a warehouse, and old housing bunks. When they were done demon-booby-trapping the main room, Sam signaled for Ruby to go left to the offices while he and Tasha went right to the warehouse but Tasha scowled at the order. She whispered that she was going to go check out the bunkhouse instead. Sam shook his head.

"There's supposedly a bunch of other demons with him, Tasha," he pointed out. "Lilith couldn't use her demon powers on me so I think I'm immune their psychic thing. It's too dangerous for you alone; you should stick with me."

Tasha looked thoughtful for a moment but Sam could tell by the look on her face that he wasn't going to win the argument. She was stubborn, so much so that Dean had quickly stopped trying to get her to take the safe position when she had been hunting with them and had agreed to treat her as an equal.

"You have a point," she conceded. "But it's not safe for Chrissy here to be alone either so I'll go with her."

Sam growled his disproval under his breath but nodded. He couldn't argue Tasha's reasoning without giving away the fact that Chrissy was indeed Ruby. He gave the demon a warning glare to make it clear she had better look out for Tasha and slipped through the door towards the warehouse. At least by himself, he could use his powers more freely.

It didn't take him long to find the demons. He peeked into the open warehouse to see six of them sitting around a table on the far wall.

 _It's showtime_ , he thought, wishing his brother was here to give him a cocky grin and say the words out loud.

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	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks CrazyLadyinVegas for your comments and for keeping up! This story is already completely written and I'm just sneaking 5 minutes in every day to post a chapter. LOL, I wish I could write that fast but it actually took me almost 6 months to finish this (it's 150,000 +/- words, 31 chapters total). Here's the next chapter...

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Sam sent a quick text to the girls and stepped boldly into the open room. "Hey, any of you guys see a little dog in here?" he called over. They all looked up sharply. "I seem to have lost him. He's an ugly mutt, goes by the name Succorbenoth," the hunter added in his best cocky Dean imitation. Didn't quite manage to pull it off, but he was getting better, he thought to himself.

All six rose aggressively to their feet, a couple of them blinking black eyes at the hunter and thus confirming they were indeed demons. Three of them started moving towards him but a seventh appeared from the shadows, a grey-haired man in his mid-fifties, holding his hand in the air. The others all froze at his signal.

 _Great,_ _that must be Succorbenoth._

"Who are you and why are you looking for me?" the leader demanded.

"Name's Sam Winchester," Sam informed him, not sure whether it was a good sign or a bad one that the demon seemed to recognize the name.

"Sam Winchester," Succorbenoth repeated before addressing his minions. "Great rewards to whoever kills this pest."

They all charged instantly. Sam knew he couldn't take all six minions out at the same time and still get Succorbenoth in one of the traps back in the equipment room so he just turned and ran, hoping like Hell the girls were ready and the traps would snare at least some of the possessed bodies now chasing him.

He skidded into the large room to see Ruby and Tasha rushing in from a door on the far wall. He ducked in to the side of the door, flattening himself against the wall in hopes of gaining the element of surprise in the upcoming fight. Tasha and Ruby fanned out, moving themselves to the far side of two devils traps covered with scraps of plywood. Tasha had Ruby's knife drawn and Ruby had a borrowed silver blade of Sam's doused in holy water. Sam couldn't help but liken them to bookends as he took in the two brunettes' similar physiques and practically identical fighting stances.

The demons barely slowed as they filed through the doorway one at a time, eyes gleaming black and angry scowls on their borrowed faces. The two in front spotted the women and immediately lunged for them, both slamming to a halt as they hit the invisible supernatural force field that contained them in the hidden devils traps. The demons behind them clued in and attacked a little more warily, coming in from the sides over bare concrete floor. Sam waited until Succorbenoth himself entered, bringing up the rear behind his minions and pausing to look around as soon as he stepped over the threshold. Sam launched himself at him, hoping to tackle him into the large devil's trap in the center of the room. "This is Succky!" he yelled, making sure Tasha and Ruby knew which one they needed to keep alive.

His attack failed. Succorbenoth spun to face him and raised his hand as if to blast him with a shot of demon mojo. As with Lilith on the night Dean had died, it had no affect on Sam, but the demon still possessed super strength and Sam's giant bulk barreling into him wasn't enough to knock him off his feet. The demon grunted with the force of impact and slammed a fist back at the hunter, sending him reeling backwards onto the ground. Stepping away from the devil's trap, Succorbenoth advanced on Sam as the hunter rolled quickly to his knees and back to his feet.

He stole a worried glance across the room as he righted himself, not liking the numbers and the extreme danger he'd clearly placed Tasha in. He was heartened to see she was not only holding her own but had in fact just taken out the first demon that attacked her with a vicious stab of Ruby's knife and was dancing out of reach of the second one charging at her.

Ruby, on the other hand, was not faring as well. Not having the advantage of a lethal weapon, a tall, wiry demon had landed a blow to her stomach that had sent her flying backwards into the brick wall behind her.

Sam's attention was snapped back to his own situation the instant he reached his feet since Succorbenoth was coming at him fast. He lashed out again with his fists at the demon, hoping to get a lucky strike in and knock him into the chalked trap. But Winchesters were never lucky. His fist connected with the demon's face but had little effect. Succorbenoth grabbed him by the collar and flung him, this time sending him slamming into the doorframe behind him. He fought for breath and struggled unsuccessfully to stay on his feet. As he sank to his knees, he caught in his peripheral the lights of death flashing from beneath the skin of the second demon Tasha had just slashed across the neck with Ruby's knife. She spared him a quick glance also but obviously decided 'Chrissy' needed her help more for she turned and charged the demon that was using Ruby as a punching bag.

Sam dodged the fist that crashed into the door jamb above his head, splintering the wood with a loud crack. He lunged upwards, wrapping his arms around Succorbenoth's waist and pushing the demon backwards. They toppled to the ground in a mass of flailing fists and feet. He took a couple of hard hits and had the sinking feeling the few he landed in return weren't having the desired effect. He managed to roll out of the way and sprang back to his feet.

Tasha was also getting back up after being thrown across the floor by the last of the free minions, a short, pudgy man that Ruby was currently grappling with. Ruby caught Sam's eye and hissed at him. "Take him down, Sam!"

Succorbenoth was coming back at him and Sam knew Ruby was telling him to use his powers. He was well aware that a hand-to-hand fight was not going to end well for him against a far stronger and faster opponent. He growled in frustration but lifted his palm towards the high-level demon. A quick glance back up, however, had him meeting Tasha's brown-eyed gaze and he stopped. He didn't want her to see him do this. He didn't want her to know what he could do, what he was. In a strange way she represented his brother, his conscience, and he couldn't bear the thought of letting her down or letting her see that he had betrayed Dean's dying request, that he had turned into a blood-sucking monster. He took a step backwards and lowered his arm.

"Sam!" Ruby snarled, glaring first at Sam then narrowing her eyes at Tasha, who was making her way towards Ruby, clearly stiff and in pain from the last hit she had taken. Sam shook his head, letting Ruby know he wasn't going to expose his secret, and pulled his Glock from his jeans, firing a few rounds at the demon coming at him. It did slow the possessed man down but wasn't enough to force him backwards into the devil's trap.

"Sam! Goddamnit!" Ruby screamed her disapproval at him. She dealt a particularly hard blow to the demon she was fighting just as Tasha reached the pair with the demon-killing knife. As the slim hunter raised the blade to stab the demon Ruby had just knocked down, Ruby stepped behind her and struck her at the base of her skull with the butt of Sam's knife.

"Ruby!" Sam cried in anger as he watched Tasha's eyes roll back in her head and her body crumple onto the floor.

"Damnit Sam, _now_ do it!" Ruby snapped back impatiently. "Get control of him or we're all dead!"

He couldn't help but be thankful to the petite demon for finding a solution to his dilemma, albeit not a perfect one, and gave her a curt nod of acknowledgement as his initial shocked anger subsided. He was only partially aware of her prying her own knife from Tasha's unconscious hand and making quick work of the last of the free demons by ramming the six inch blade into his chest because Succorbenoth was suddenly upon him and he returned his attention to his own fight.

He dodged a blow to the chest and stepped backwards, raising his arm up and thrusting his palm out towards Succorbenoth and sending a blast of mental power in his direction. He felt a wave of satisfaction sweep through him at the look of fear the demon gave him when he realized what was happening. Succorbenoth's borrowed body was flung backwards but he managed to stop himself short of the chalk lines Sam had been aiming for.

The demon couldn't throw Sam but he seemed to be able to resist Sam's energy blast. The hunter increased his efforts, concentrating on moving the strong demon backwards, rather than the usual exorcizing routine. He needed Succorbenoth here but he needed him inside the devil's trap. Sam could feel his heart pounding in his chest and his breath quickened as he struggled against Succky's will, the two of them facing off with their arms outstretched towards each other.

After a long, difficult moment, the high level demon had clearly seen that he was outmatched and was trying to make a break for it. Tiny tendrils of black smoke started to snake out of his mouth but Sam wasn't going to let the bastard get away. He threw everything he had at the demon, forcing him to stay inside the grey-haired man. Succorbenoth was by far the strongest demon he'd come up against since he'd started training with Ruby and he could feel himself getting lightheaded but he kept pushing. He tasted his blood trickling into his mouth and realized his nose was bleeding but still did not back down. In fact, he pushed farther, pain hammering in his skull and his knees starting to quiver as his strength reached its limits.

It was with his last ounce of energy that he finally forced Succorbenoth off his feet and sent him tumbling into the devil's trap behind him. He was vaguely aware of Ruby's cheered "Yes!" before his knees gave out and he dropped to the floor, a blanket of blackness catching him as he fell.

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He awoke to find Ruby kneeling next to him on the cold, hard floor of the equipment room. "Hey Sam? You still with us?" Her voice didn't sound particularly worried but instead held the usual hint of sarcasm that all demons seemed to have.

He pushed himself up onto his elbows to see Succorbenoth lying still on the floor inside the large devil's trap, his meat suit's eyes closed. Blinking to bring his eyes into better focus, Sam surveyed the room to see six other bodies littering the floor. The situation came back to him in a rush and he took note of the two dead people lying in the plywood covered devils traps before giving Ruby a disapproving look. They had been trapped and could have been saved.

She clearly caught his accusing glare because she raised her hands in innocence. "I didn't kill them," she defended. "I had to pretend to go check out a noise outside while your little girl-scout exorcized them the old fashioned way. Not my fault the demons had ridden them too hard and they didn't make it."

"Where's Tasha?" he asked, his throat raspy.

"She's scouting the perimeter," Ruby told him. "Salting every door and window," she added with an annoyed eyeroll.

"Alone?" Sam sat up straight.

Ruby snorted. "I don't think you have to worry about her. She and my knife make quite the lethal pair. I was impressed and I don't impress easily."

Sam relaxed with a grin. "Yeah, she can handle a blade alright." He realized even as the words escaped his mouth that was a gross understatement. Brian Malick had trained his daughter well with the best and most practical defense against a psychotic stalking vampire, a knife covered in dead man's blood. Tasha was a competent hunter in general but she was the best Sam had ever seen with a knife. To see her in action was honestly a thing of beauty. "How long have I been out?" he asked.

"Twenty minutes, give or take," the demon answered. "And by the way, thanks for leaving me so long with Ms. Chatty. She's not exactly the small talk type, huh?"

Sam gave her another smile as he pushed himself wearily to his knees. "Don't worry, you wont have any trouble keeping up the Chrissy ruse," he told her. "Tasha won't ask you a single personal question. She makes a habit of _not_   getting to know people."

"She seems to be friendly and personal enough with you," Ruby accused.

"That's an extension of what she felt for Dean," he explained. "They had the whole in-love thing going on."

Ruby let out another snort of disbelief. "Dean? In love? Mr. Jack-ass commitment-phobe?"

Tasha appeared at the doorway at the far end of the room. "You know Dean?" she asked the demon, having clearly heard Ruby's last comment. Not for the first time, Sam noticed that Tasha was still referring to Dean in the present tense and wondered exactly when he had made the switch to past tense.

Ruby gave the other brunette a careful look. "Uh, we crossed paths a couple of times on hunts.  Can't say we hit it off, exactly."

Tasha laughed. "Actually, I thought he was an ass too, first time I met him."

Ruby raised a questioning eyebrow. "Then why…" She wrinkled her nose in obvious distaste at the mere thought of getting cozy with the elder Winchester.

Tasha shrugged. "I was upset at the time and he's hot and he offered a distraction. Can't help where it went from there."

"You okay, Tasha?" Sam interrupted, cutting off any derogatory remark Ruby might have been contemplating.

"Yeah," she assured him, rubbing the back of her neck. "That last demon musta been quick coz he clocked me good. How 'bout you?" she returned the concern.

Sam made it to his feet and rolled his shoulders in a feeble effort to loosen his aching muscles and lessen his pounding headache. "Succorbenoth put up a good fight," he admitted. "Gave me a pretty good whack on the head."

All three were suddenly distracted by a well-timed groan from the large devil's trap. "He's coming round!" Sam announced unnecessarily, taking two of his giant strides to the edge of the trap and peering down at Succorbenoth.

The demon still seemed weak but had pushed himself up and was now sitting cross-legged in the center of the devil's trap, glaring icily up at the towering form of the hunter.

Sam chose to ignore the nasty look, not wanting to initiate a conversation with the demon since it would inevitably end with his secret being revealed to Tasha. "Get the stuff for the binding ritual," he ordered Ruby.

"Already done," she answered him, gesturing towards an array of candles, talismans, and symbols arranged on the floor in the far corner.

"All the doors and windows are salted,' Tasha added, "so we don't have to worry about more demons sneaking up on us. We're all clear."

Sam realized he would have to be discreet when breaking a salt line for Ruby to get out when they left, but hopefully that would be with his brother in tow, alive and well. A new wave of giddy but terrified anticipation hit him at the thought. Ruby moved over and started lighting the candles.

Tasha stood behind her, demon-killing knife held tightly in her grasp as she eyed Succorbenoth warily. "How did you know how to do all this?" she asked Ruby.

"Every hunter has a specialty," was Ruby's evasive answer.

Sam explained further. "You're a bit of a vampire expert," he told Tasha. "Let's just say Chrissy's more of a demon expert. Not to mention pretty versed in witchcraft. She can make hex bags for practically anything."

The setup now complete, Sam pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and began to recite the Latin words scrawled on it as Ruby mixed rank-smelling powders and ignited them over the various symbols on the makeshift altar.

Succorbenoth suddenly let out a blood-curdling scream, his head tipping back as flames shot up out of the symbols of the altar. The lights in the room started flickering on and off and the bulbs all exploded in unison, blue lines of electricity darting about the room between them. The visible currents intensified before finally all stretching down to zap Succorbenoth, still trapped within his chalked prison.

"The blood!, Now Sam!" Ruby shouted, spurring Sam into action. He sliced a small blade across his palm and stepped into the devil's trap, planting his bleeding palm on Succky's forehead.

"Remidio nos!" he said loudly, completing the part of the Latin spell that would give him control over the demon. "Remidio nos!"

He felt a wave of energy pass through him and took a step back out of the devil's trap as the room fell into a calm silence. Succorbenoth was on his knees, hunched over and panting. The hunters and Ruby stood staring in silence for a moment before Tasha finally spoke.

"Did it work?" she asked, her question directed at Sam.

"I think so," Ruby answered, also looking up at Sam. "Test it," she suggested. "Give him an order."

Sam took a deep breath. It was his blood used in the ritual so Succky was only bound to him. "Stand up," he commanded.

Succorbenoth glared daggers at him but pushed himself to his feet.

"Make him bow," Ruby sneered.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Bow," he said simply.

Succorbenoth bowed.

Tasha laughed. Encouraged, Sam let a grin slip and gave another command. "Spin three times and clap your hands."

If looks could kill, Sam would be dead ten times over, but the grey-haired demon turned in his prison three times and clapped his hands together. "If you're done with the juvenile theatrics, Winchester," he spat, "tell me what you want with me."

"I want you to get my brother out of Hell," Sam replied, his grin disappearing.

Now it was Succorbenoth's turn to laugh. A deep, malevolent rumble escaped his throat and his shoulders shook with his apparent amusement. "I can't," he said bluntly.

"You can if I tell you to," Sam retorted. "In fact, you have to."

"I mean, I can't from in here," the demon fired back, pointing at the chalked lines of the devil's trap he was in.

"Why not?" Tasha asked, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

He tore his glowering eyes from Sam and laid them on the smaller hunter standing at his side. "The heptogram renders me powerless, you morons."

Sam looked to Ruby, who nodded. "That's true," she admitted.

He turned to Tasha. "You still got that knife handy?" he asked her. She nodded, giving Ruby's blade a showy twirl in her skilled hand. "Use it if he so much as hiccups without my say so," Sam instructed with a pointed look at Succorbenoth. Tasha nodded in understanding and Sam bent down and scraped a narrow line in the outer ring of the trap.

Succorbenoth smirked and took a sideways step over the chalked line.

"Stop," Sam commanded. The demon stopped short, growling his displeasure.

Sam bit his lip in anticipation. "Now open a gate and bring my brother back from the pit, you son of a bitch."

"I can't," the demon snarled.

"Wrong answer!" Sam seethed. "Do it or I'll finish you right here!"

Succorbenoth made no show of hiding his derogatory eye roll. "Like I said, I can't. I can't simply _will_ a gate to Hell, you mindless ingrate. There's a ritual that goes along with it."

"I did my homework," Sam fired back. "For the size of the gate we're looking for, big enough for just one, you need something important to the soul in question and a door." He pointed to the ground next to the altar that Ruby had setup. Dean's amulet had been placed in the center of an elaborate Enochian symbol. He then pointed to the door to a small storage closet on which a series of symbols had been drawn.

"That should do it," Sam said in an authoritative tone. "You know the words, you've done this before. Do it now."

"What makes you think I can find your brother?"

"I'm pretty sure he'll be a bit of a celebrity down there. He'll be well guarded, you'll be able to find him." Sam gave him a warning look. "You'd _better_ be able to find him."

Succorbenoth sneered but started chanting in a low, guttural voice.

Tasha leaned over to Sam and whispered. "Are you sure we don't need Dean's body to be here?"

It was Succorbenoth who answered her. "You'd be amazed what I can do, sweetheart," he grinned before returning to his chanting.

Sam knew the bound demon couldn't disobey but threw Ruby a glance to ask if the unknown words he was chanting were the right ones. She just shrugged. _Not a reassuring_ _response_.

The air in the room suddenly grew heavy and a strange vibration passed through Sam's body from nowhere, giving him a weird, ominous vibe. He felt a breeze though all the doors were closed and he glanced down to see Tasha's hair billowing in the quickly increasing wind. Soon it was howling all around them, so much so that Sam lifted a hand to shield his face and the windows in the room suddenly shattered, raining a shower of glass down on them. They all stood their ground, however, until there was a distinct knocking coming from the other side of the closed and marked storage room door.

Someone was in there. Someone brought here from Hell.

"Dean!" Tasha cried and rushed towards the door, yanking the metal handle and pulling it open.

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	17. Chapter 17

… _there was a distinct knocking coming from the other side of the closed and marked storage room door._

_Someone was in there. Someone brought here from hell._

" _Dean!" Tasha cried and rushed towards the door, yanking the metal handle and pulling it open._

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"Tasha wait!" Sam yelled in alarm. He wasn't sure why but he had a really bad feeling about this. He wanted that knock to be his brother more than he had ever wanted anything in his entire life but somehow he knew it wasn't going to be Dean. Nothing came that easy, not in his experience.

He was right. When Tasha threw the door open, it wasn't his brother standing there. Instead the brunette was greeted by a seven foot snarling beast with yellow fangs and glowing amber eyes. It was vaguely human-looking and was fast, fast enough that it swiped a clawed hand out at Tasha and sent her skidding violently across the floor.

"Tash!" Sam cried in horror as he watched her slam brutally into the far wall. He was already rushing forward towards the beast but Ruby got there first. The agile demon slashed at the giant newcomer with a knife and succeeded in opening a six-inch slice across its cheek before it batted her away. She grunted as she smacked into the doorframe so hard that the impact ripped the metal door off its top hinge.

Sizing up the monster, Sam decided a weapon would be prudent, preferably a large one, so he grabbed a piece of steel pipe from the floor and swung it as the beast charged into the room. He dealt a swing worthy of Mark McGwire but if its effect was any indication, it definitely wouldn't be classified as a home run. More like a foul ball or a flat-out strike. The beast yanked the pipe out of his hands and lashed out at him. He leaned back but it still managed to cuff him on the shoulder and knock him down. He threw his arm up to defend against the next blow but Ruby diverted it by lunging at the beast.

As Ruby was grappling with the creature that was more than twice her size, Sam got to his feet and noticed that Succorbenoth was slowly creeping towards the exit. "Stay right where you are!" he barked, stopping the demon in its tracks. He turned to check on Tasha to see her pushing herself to her feet, her face twisted in obvious pain. Hurt but clearly alive.

"What is this thing?" he hissed at Ruby, jumping back in the fight as she took a nasty hit on the shoulder.

"An Olag-Hinau," she wheezed. "A Hell troll!"

Sam turned to Tasha. "Wooden stakes!" he cried. "Get the wooden stakes!" He watched long enough to be sure she understood his meaning before jumping back into the fray to help Ruby. Tasha didn't look pleased but she obediently turned and ran towards the door. Trolls could only be killed with a wooden stake to the heart, though Hollywood had since falsely claimed this as the method of wasting a vampire. The stakes were in the Impala and there wasn't a suitable replacement handy in the room.

The troll wrapped its clawed hands around Ruby and lifted her up with an enraged snarl before slamming her down on the floor so hard Sam could hear bones cracking. He winced at the sickening sound and grabbed his shotgun from the duffel on the floor, firing repeatedly at the beast to draw its attention away from the demon. The rock-salt rounds obviously hurt it but didn't seem to be having any lasting effect and Sam was soon knocked sideways by a thick, greenish arm that slammed into his chest. He struggled to get back up but ended up having to scurry clumsily away from the furious troll.

He glared up at Succorbenoth as finally he got to his feet. The demon still stood where Sam had ordered him stay, his arms folded over his chest as he laughed loudly at the beating his captors were taking. Sam heard Tasha running back in the door and got to his feet just in time to catch the wooden stake she tossed in his direction. He lunged quickly at the troll but his forceful jab missed its mark and sank into the beast's meaty shoulder.

The troll roared loudly and grabbed the hunter by the throat, lifting him in the air and trudging forward to slam him against the wall. Sam was sure his trachea was going to be mush any second and his hands instinctively tugged at the clawed fingers wrapped around his neck. He kicked out desperately but, although his knees were hitting solid mass, his efforts were futile. He saw Ruby finally managing to get to her feet in his peripheral but it was Tasha who reached the troll first.

He heard her wooden stake squelch into the troll's back and the iron grip on his throat released immediately. The beast wobbled a few steps backwards, flailing his arms behind him in an attempt to remove the deadly wooden spike that had clearly not penetrated deeply enough to pierce the beast's heart. As Sam sucked in a gulp of much-needed air, he saw Ruby step up and slam her palm into the protruding stake, driving it so far into the troll that he could see it poking out of its chest.

The troll lurched and released a strangled howl, thrashing wildly in every direction before toppling heavily to the floor, smothering several candles from the binding alter and sending Dean's amulet skittering across the floor.

"Shit!" cried Sam, his voice hoarse from the punishment his throat had just been dealt. He jerked his head towards Succorbenoth, his heart skipping a beat. "Stay there!" he shouted but his order had no effect. The altar's power had been broken. The demon lifted his hand towards all three of them and Tasha went flying backwards, pinned to the wall with his demon mojo. Sam knew it would have no effect on him but was mildly surprised to see that Ruby was also immune. Could demons not fling other demons?

The hunter's previous toying with the now-released gate demon was now coming back to bite him on his ass. Succorbenoth could have tried to make a run for it but was clearly not going to let his humiliation go unpunished for he charged the two left standing. Before Sam could focus on throwing any mojo at Succky, the freed demon knocked Ruby away as if he was swatting a fly and barreled straight at him. He barely flinched at the fist Sam landed in his borrowed face and returned the favor with a loud snarl. Sam went down hard, his vision blurring at the impact. The demon jumped on him and started punching him viciously, clearly determined to kill the hunter the old-fashioned way.

He heard Tasha screaming his name from where she was pinned, her voice laced with fear, but couldn't see past the blows being rained down on him. He was still struggling to roll out of harm's way when the attack suddenly stopped. He lowered his defensive arm to see lights flashing behind Succorbenoth's cheeks and eyes and the demon collapsed down on top of him with a gargling exhale.

He shoved the heavy body off to see Tasha drop from where she had been pressed to the wall and Ruby hovering over him with her demon-killing knife in her hand, dripping with fresh blood.

"No!" Tasha cried, sinking to her knees and rolling the dead man Succorbenoth had been possessing over, feeling desperately for a pulse. Sam pulled himself off the floor and threw Ruby a sharp look.

"Damnit!" he cursed. "We needed him!"

Ruby glowered at both of them. "We need _you_   too, Sam," she fired back. "It was you or him!"

"Are you sure he's dead?" Tasha asked frantically, pulling the dead guy's eyelids open and peering down into their empty depths. "The demon, I mean; not the guy."

"He's gone," Sam breathed, swallowing hard in his effort to contain his bitter disappointment. That had been his last chance at saving his brother.

"Can we resurrect him?" Tasha wasn't giving up.

"He's a hundred percent dead," Ruby explained, holding up the demon-killing knife. "Not exorcized, not in Hell… _dead_."

Tasha jumped to her feet and ran to the storage closet, leaning over the twisted, broken door and looking wildly into the dark room. "Can we re-open the door without him?" she asked in a strained tone. "It brought the troll over, maybe it's still open."

"Tash," Sam said softly, his voice heavy with emotion but she didn't seem to hear him. "Tash," he repeated a little louder. "It's over."

Tasha shook her head. "No," she said heatedly. "No. We can open it again…we can…we can go through ourselves and get him…we can…we can…" She let the sentence trail off, her last words coming out shaky and desperate as she rested her pleading eyes on Sam.

Sam tore his gaze away from her, still grappling with his own feelings and not wanting to give in to the pain and anguish he was feeling, a feat he was sure he wouldn't be able to accomplish if he kept watching Tasha's heartbreaking reaction to their failure. Instead he got to his feet and started to gather their weapons, avoiding eye contact with her altogether. He reached for the anger and rage he could feel boiling deep within himself and pulled them to the surface, deciding they were easier to deal with than the hurt. "We gotta go," he said brusquely. "Let's get these bodies salt-and-burned and buried."

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The drive back to the motel was quiet, the only sound being the purr of the Impala's engine. Sam couldn't help but notice the classic beauty didn't sound as smooth as she used to under Dean's loving care but he had no guilt to spare for her. Every ounce he had was once again tied up in thoughts of his brother and how he had failed him yet again. Yesterday, he had almost accepted that he wouldn't be saving Dean and had instead shifted his focus to Lilith. Then this night had offered renewed hope and an incredible, unexpected last chance but in the end had just served to remind him how much he still missed his brother.

Tasha sat in the back seat and remained silent the whole trip, staring blankly out the window into the Illinois night. It occurred to Sam that this was all new to her; that she had only found out about Dean's deal a couple of days ago and was still working her way through the early stages of grief. To have a chance to bring the man she loved back then have the opportunity ripped away again must be unbearable for her also. He remembered the all-encompassing despair he had suffered the first few weeks after Dean had died and didn't envy her now for he had no doubts she still loved Dean. Despite only having known him for two months and despite him ending it with her a full three months ago, she still loved him. That much was clear.

They arrived back at the motel at four o'clock in the morning, the sun's first rays still a couple of hours away. Ruby said she had somewhere to be and disappeared in her own car and Tasha simply hauled her boots off and curled up on the bed without saying a word. Sam removed his own shoes and lay down next to her, his arms folded under his head as he stared up at the ceiling.

The barely perceptible hum of the air conditioner was almost deafening in the utter silence and Sam felt a brief feeling of dread when he realized he was alone with his thoughts. He hated these moments when he had too much time to think. He would prefer to be out hunting something or killing something – _anything_   that would take his mind off Dean and the pain his memory caused him. He had been avoiding moments like this for two months and had become pretty adept at replacing the wallowing misery with danger and action. Normally he would be calling Ruby right now and demanding she find some random demon he could gank but this time that wasn't an option. He glanced over at Tasha, who was lying still with her back to him. He couldn't leave her alone right now.

It was Tasha who broke the silence, though she didn't turn around as she spoke. "He's not coming back, is he?" she asked him softly.

Sam swallowed. He had come to the same conclusion the moment he had seen Ruby pulling her blade from Succorbenoth's back.

"No," he answered simply, his heart filling with compassion and pity, emotions that seemed strangely foreign to him by this point. "No, he's not."

She rolled over to face him and Sam wasn't surprised to see tears welling in her lower lids. She was close to him, close enough that he could feel her breath and her head was now resting on the pillow just beneath his elbow. He lowered his arm, wrapping it around her shoulder and she immediately snuggled up to him, laying her cheek on his chest.

"What do you think it's like down there?" she whispered.

"I don't know," Sam replied honestly. "I don't want to know."

Her hand slid up to his neck and she gently pulled the amulet out from under his t-shirt. She wrapped her fingers around it and rested her closed hand on his chest. "He was good," she said finally. "He was one of the good guys…a hero. He didn't deserve to go to Hell."

Sam realized that this was the first time she had spoken of Dean in the past tense. "I'm sorry," he said in a throaty voice. "He wouldn't be in Hell if it weren't for me. If I'd stayed dead, he'd be fine."

"No he wouldn't," Tasha rebutted quickly. "If you were dead, he'd have been destroyed." She glanced up at him. "You HAD to know that, Sam."

Sam let his breath out slowly. Yes, he knew that. Growing up he had found Dean's brotherly devotion suffocating and had seen it as a sign of weakness. But during the last three years they had been back on the road together, he had come to appreciate and eventually return the unconditional love Dean had for him and had developed a sincere and deep respect for the man that Dean was. The irony wasn't lost on Sam that he had finally come to understand Dean right before he had lost him.

"It still should have been me," he breathed.

"Don't say that," she whispered back. "It shouldn't have been either of you."

Sam didn't answer, instead staring silently at the ceiling and liking the sound of her words. Usually when he expressed his guilt over Dean's fate the response was assurances from Ruby that he would have his chance for revenge. Reminders that it was the white-eyed bitch who had dragged Dean to the pit and that if Sam practiced his powers he would eventually be able to destroy her. Tasha's less vengeful response blossomed some almost-forgotten sentiments inside him. Something other than anger.

He found he liked the feelings he was experiencing. Grief and sorrow hurt but he was enjoying the break from the coldness of the constant rage and stony determination he bore of late. It was for that reason that Tasha's next words struck an uncomfortable chord inside him and gave him a feeling of dissappointment and worry.

"It was Lillith's doing," she said, a sharp edge in her voice. "We should go after her. She deserves to die."

Sam wasn't completely oblivious to what was happening to him – how his need for revenge and hatred for Lillith was changing him. He knew somewhere in the far corners of his mind that drinking the drops of demon-blood was affecting him also and that he was starting to justify his actions with less and less opposition from his conscience. Hearing Tasha speak of going after Lillith, however, scared him. The thought of her turning into what he was becoming made him nauseous and was wrong on so many levels. She was good and loving and beautiful and he didn't want to see all that destroyed. He didn't want her to change. He didn't want this for her. _Dean wouldn't want this for her._

He rolled toward her and placed his other arm on her shoulder, gripping it hard enough that she swept her brown eyes upwards and gave him a questioning look.

"Lillith will get her due," he said confidently. "But right now she's way too powerful and Dean wouldn't want you to get yourself killed chasing after her."

"Yeah well, Dean's gone," she argued, though her voice hitched at the mention of Dean's name. "And I can't not do anything," she added, pulling away from him and sitting up on her knees. "I need to do something _now_."

Sam pulled himself up so he was sitting also, his face level with hers. "Hey," he soothed, "I know how you feel. You're angry. I'm angry too but…"

"I'm angry, sure," she cut him off with a wave of her hand. "But that's not it. I just _need_   to be doing something." She gave him a look that Sam could only describe as one of fear and desperation before continuing. "I can't just lie here and think about him, Sam.  It hurts too much.  I need to keep busy."

Sam understood. He sighed in genuine sympathy. He knew exactly what she was feeling and he knew exactly where trying to avoid that pain would lead her. He cupped her face with his hands and offered her his most sincere 'Sammy-feels-your-pain' look, the one his brother had always made fun of him for when they were interviewing grieving relatives.

"It won't work," he told her. 'Believe me, I know. You can keep busy hunting anything and everything or chasing Lillith or ganking as many demons as you can find but trust me, it doesn't take the pain away." He leaned forward and pressed his forehead gently against hers. "It still hurts like Hell every second of the day," he whispered.

She leaned into him and closed her eyes but didn't say anything.

"Nothing works," Sam continued. "I spent weeks trying to keep busy to keep my mind off Dean," he admitted. "When I wasn't almost getting myself killed trying to get him back I was keeping myself so drunk I could barely think."

He paused and felt her start to quiver, her arms sliding forward to grip his sleeves. "I have this hole inside too, Tasha, and it's not going away," he rasped. He hadn't expected to share that bit of truth about himself as he had become so adept at keeping it all inside but he felt an unusual bond with this girl, one he couldn't quite explain, and the words had just tumbled out.

She slid her arms around him and hugged him close, smothering small sobs into his neck. He held her tightly and closed his eyes, breathing deep, slow breaths. At this moment, he felt the closest to his brother that he had since the day Dean had died. That connection, he realized, was because he felt the most like his old self that he had since that horrible day, the difference being that he was actually _feeling_. Caring about something, someone, had become nothing but a distant memory.

She wept in his arms for what seemed like a long time and Sam held her patiently, fighting back his own wave of emotion that was threatening to surface. Eventually her sobs subsided and she pulled away, giving him an apologetic look before lying back down. Sam lay down also and he held his arm out as an offer to cuddle. She wriggled closer, again laying her head on his chest and draping an arm over him. Sam was surprised at how relaxed and casual the intimacy was but couldn't deny it felt nice and, a bit unexpectedly, it didn't feel wrong.

"Sam?" she asked after a few minutes of silence.

"Yeah?"

"I've been alone a long time," she began, sucking in a deep breath of air as if preparing for a speech. "And I was okay with it for years," she continued, "until I met Dean and traveled with you two for a while. Those two months with you guys were the best months of my life." She turned her face up towards his. "And not just because your brother was a fantastic lay," she added with a hint of a smile.

Sam's chest heaved in silent laughter and his nose wrinkled in distaste. "TMI, Tash," he grinned.

"Still a prude, I see," she chuckled in return before her smile faded and she carried on. "Those three months after you guys went your own way were the loneliest I've ever felt," she told him, propping herself up on her elbow so she could look down into his eyes. "So I was thinking…maybe we could stick together for a while? Go on some hunts? Watch each other's backs?" she suggested with a pleading look. "As friends, you know," she added quickly.

Sam was aware she was holding her breath and staring at him waiting for his reply. His mind spun with all the implications and consequences of allowing her to stick with him and he struggled for an answer. He had to admit, he had been glad to have her show back up in his life and remind him of his old self. She had a friendly nature and he had enjoyed her company even in the months while Dean was alive. She was a decent hunter and he liked the thought of working with her again and especially the thought of looking out for her and watching her back.

But most of all, he realized, he liked himself better when she was around. He didn't like who he was becoming and sometimes it scared him how cold and callous he could be, especially with a bit of demon blood in his system. He knew he should stop and was suddenly aware that he didn't care enough about himself to even try. But he did care about Tasha. The truth was, she could help him far more than he could help her. She could be his conscience, his reason for letting go of the all-consuming hatred he felt for Lillith, for adhering to his brother's dying wish that he keep hunting the way their father had taught them. Maybe he wasn't beyond saving after all.

He met her gaze and smiled. "Yeah, sure," he said. "I guess you can stick around."

She rolled her eyes but gave him a genuine smile as she lay back down next to him. "You _guess_   so?" she teased. "Gee, don't sound enthusiastic or anything."

"I would love for you to stick around," he told her sincerely.

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	18. Chapter 18

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When Sam woke up the day was well underway and Tasha was gone. He was surprised at how long he had slept and how soundly; sleep didn't come easily to him these days. He peered out the window and noticed the crappy red Fiero that Dean would definitely have made fun of was gone also. He felt a pang of disappointment thinking Tasha had decided it wasn't such a good idea to stick around after all but smiled when he noticed her backpack was still on the floor by the bed. After scratching at remnants of crusted blood on the side of his head from last night's fight, he decided a shower was in order.

When he got out Tasha was back and two steaming cups of coffee were sitting on the wooden motel table. He raised an eyebrow in shock.

" _You_   getting _me_   coffee?" he teased, remembering that it used to be his morning routine to drop a coffee off at her motel door before bringing Dean his. She had never been what he would call a morning person and the coffee gesture had been his way of taking the bite out of her cranky morning demeanor.

"Couldn't sleep," she shrugged, turning her laptop around so Sam could see the displayed webpage. "Found us a job. Right here in our backyard."

Sam's interest was piqued. A good old-fashioned hunt sounded good right about now. "Here?" he questioned, pulling his shirt on. "In Pontiac?"

"Yup," she answered, giving him a teasing grin as her eyes exaggeratedly appraised the sight of his well-built chest. Much to Sam's chagrin, she and Dean had always found it amusing when she made comments about the younger Winchester's muscled torso or chiseled features, the pair of them laughing at his blushed embarrassment. Sam suddenly realized he had apparently outgrown his shyness in the past couple of months for he simply grinned back at her, enjoying a feeling of amused satisfaction when a pink hue came over her cheeks instead.

"Anyway," she continued quickly, turning her attention back to the laptop, "No adult men were reported missing so it's likely none of the possessed guys from last night were locals, but it seems the little town of Pontiac is quite the hornet's nest of weird shit. They've got a haunted church, a prophet, a statue of a police dog that cries, and a radio ad-time salesman who claims an angel spoke to him through his TV."

Sam chuckled and reached for his coffee. "Are you seriously suggesting we check this stuff out?"

She frowned at him. "Hell no. The prophet chants his visions at the bus stop on Fourth street in his underwear, the church is supposedly haunted by the ghost of Elvis, and as for the guy who talks to angels, even his wife thinks he's a basket case. "

"And the dog statue?"

"Well, Stone Cold Cujo may have some merit," she grinned, "except that he only cries when it rains."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Where did you get all this stuff?"

"You forget Sam, I'm a girl. Small town people talk to girls. You and Dean…" her smile suddenly became somewhat forced when she realized what she had said. "You have the G-man vibe going and well, honestly, you're so goddamn big you scare most regular folk."

Sam appreciated the effort to keep the levity and ignored the familiar jab at his size. "So basically you got nothing then?" he teased back.

"Oh ye of little faith!" she scoffed. "I got a bonafied hybrid Chupacabra."

"Oh? Really?" Sam hadn't hunted one of them since he was a young teenager. The regular Chupacabras usually fed on goats or sheep and were fairly commonplace in hunting circles as well as relatively easy to kill. The hybrids, however, were thought to be a more recent mutation or evolution of the beast and much more scarce. Lore claimed a flock of Chupacabras had somehow bred with a herd of Chilean Mountain trolls sometime in the mid-eighteenth century and the offspring were not only far more intelligent than either race, but far more deadly too. The last time Sam had faced one, John Winchester had been using him and Dean as bait and both brothers had come very close to being 'Chupa-chow', as Dean had so eloquently put it.

"What evidence do you have?" the tall hunter asked Tasha, planting himself in the rickety motel chair in front of the laptop to see what she had dug up. His sudden curiosity of how much, or more accurately how little, sleep she had managed to get after he nodded off last night slipped out of his mind as he continued to read. Yup, she was right; the indications were all there. A Hybrid Chupacabra.

_Something other than a demon. Awesome._

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It took two days to track down the Chupacabra. It had started by feeding on livestock in the rural areas but had quickly moved on to attacking household pets in their backyards on the outskirts of town. That alone wouldn't have been enough to point to their suspected culprit but two kids had since gone missing from their bedrooms during the night and a third had survived an attack and described a large creature that walked erect with leathery skin, sharp teeth, and glowing eyes. Naturally, the local police blamed the kid's preposterous description on trauma and thought a serial kidnapper or pedophile was on the loose.

Spending much of her childhood in Mexico and South America, the lands of origin for the Chupacabra, Tasha had hunted quite a few of them, including hybrids, with her father over the years and instantly recognized the distinct, six-toed footprint the police had found outside the house of one of the victims. Knowing what they were looking for, however, didn't necessarily make it easy to find as Chupas went underground during the day and finding its hiding place wasn't easy.

They spent the entire first day scouring the sewers of Pontiac before moving on to the abandoned buildings with dark basements. The old mill where they had found Succorbenoth was left off the list of buildings to check out and wasn't mentioned at all during their search. Sam was enjoying keeping busy and it was obvious Tasha didn't particularly want to head back to the motel for the night so an unspoken mutual decision was made to keep a lookout around the houses on the edge of town during the night in hopes of spotting the creature going in for another kill.

The next day was spent checking out barns and caves in the areas surrounding the town. They pulled out the town map and Sam marked all the sightings and attacks on it, hoping to see a pattern or at least a favored area. He found it strangely nostalgic as he plotted the points in red marker the way he and Dean had done a hundred times in the past. It felt right to be doing this again; hunting the old-fashioned way for a regular monster of the week instead of the endless stream of demons he had been going after lately. The emotional sucker punch the failed rescue attempt had dealt him was still fresh and his heart was twisted in renewed grief, but at least this time he was dealing with it and was surprisingly functional.

Asking around, they found out about an old iron mine from the turn of the previous century that wasn't far out of town. Sam got a good chuckle out of how willing the old coots at the Legion bar were to talk to Tasha. A little smile and some feigned interest in the town's history was all it took to get them falling over themselves to help her with her 'summer school report'. The Winchesters were smooth talkers and could be charming and sincere enough to get information when required, but watching Tasha made Sam realize just how much easier she had it when men were involved. He just didn't have the breasts to compete with her at milking intel from the male population.

It was dusk by the time they reached the mine and they had to trudge through a mile of wet, muddy fields to get to the entrance. The mud, however, served them well when they got there for they found three six-toed tracks around the derelict, crumbled mouth of the shaft.

They should have known better than to go in. In hindsight, Sam realized they _did_  know better, they just didn't care. In his experience, when a single emotion such as grief overpowered a person's senses, things like self-preservation and common sense tended to get pushed aside. That was the reason he assumed neither of them even flinched at the sheer stupidity of taking on a Chupacabra in a dark tunnel, in its own environment. They simply flicked on their flashlights and went inside.

The Chupa got the jump on them, dropping down on Sam's back from some dark recess in the crumbling tunnel roof. As he grappled with it, Tasha came in close so she could blast it with the shotgun and not hit the hunter beneath it. The blast to the side of its leathery head only succeeded in enraging the beast, however, who gave Sam a solid swipe in the chest before leaping off him towards Tasha.

Sam struggled to his feet just as Tasha was bowled off hers. She managed to avoid its claws as it leapt on top of her but Sam could see blood soaking through her shirt. He grabbed the knife he had dropped when he had first been attacked and threw himself at the beast. The only way to kill it was to pierce both its eyes with the blade, which was silver and had been blessed by a priest of Santa Muerte. It was a standard weapon in every hunter's arsenal as it was also the only way to kill the much-despised Berkongee, the supernatural version of a flasher, minus the trench coat.

The fight was violent and both hunters took a beating. Sam was slammed so hard into a timber wall-brace, in fact, that a slew of dirt and rocks began pouring from a large crevice in the roof. As the rocks in the debris grew larger and fell faster, it became clear the tunnel was going to cave in. Sam yelled at Tasha to 'Get out!' and grimaced in exasperation when she refused and instead jumped between him and the Chupa, jabbing at its face with her knife.

Fortunately, her blade struck true and Sam took instant advantage of the beast's screaming pain to sink his knife into its second eyeball. Without stopping to watch the beast die, he grabbed Tasha's wrist and scrambled past the growing pile of rocks in the quickly-narrowing tunnel, dragging the girl roughly behind him. Their escape was 'Hollywood-movie kind of close', as Tasha put it, because the entire tunnel roof collapsed mere seconds after they cleared the growing pile of debris. They kept running through the tunnel until they made it back outside, stopping to breathe in the clean, dust-free night air in big gulps as they grinned at each other in triumph.

As they trudged back through the muddy field to the Impala, Sam scolded his new partner for her stubbornness in refusing to leave when the tunnel started collapsing. Still riding the high of a successful hunt, Tasha simply swatted his shoulder and accused him of being the black pot dissing the kettle. He argued that if the tunnel had collapsed, she could have gone for help if she'd been on the outside. Her rebuttal was that by the time she got help or dug him out, the Chupa would have killed him. Sam didn't bother to voice his thought of ' _better me than both of us_ ' as it would have been wasted on her stubborn ears.

They had been back in the motel room for five minutes when Ruby showed up. She didn't say much with Tasha present but Sam could tell she was annoyed with him. After cleaning and bandaging their latest round of cuts and bruises, Tasha suggested they go out to the local bar to celebrate. Ruby looked at her like she had eight heads and Sam had to choke back a snicker. He had never simply 'hung-out' with the demon before and was fairly sure she would make an excuse and leave.

To his surprise, she finally gave Tasha a smile. "Okay, sister," she shrugged. "Let's see if Pontiac, Illinois has any decent men."

Tasha laughed. "You've never been to a bar with Sam before, have you?" she accused. 'Guys won't come near you if they think you're with him. He's friggin' Gigantor."

Ruby gave Sam a sly smile. "I like 'em big," she said pointedly.

Tasha surprised Sam by ordering a stream of vodka'n'sevens instead of her usual one or two Baileys with milk. He ignored Ruby's chastising looks whenever he ordered a double shot of whiskey for himself. The hunters were about six rounds in when a couple of the old timers from the Legion that afternoon showed up and coaxed Tasha to the dance floor to teach her how to two-step.

Left alone at the table with a scowling Ruby, Sam sighed, knowing she was bound to speak her mind now that Tasha was out of earshot. "What?" he huffed irritably.

She gave him a haughty look and folded her arms across her chest as she sat back accusingly. "What are you still doing here, Sam?" she said finally. "And what is she still doing here?" She threw a disapproving glance towards Tasha. "You forget about Lillith? Why are you wasting your time _and your talents_ chasing stray dogs in Podunkville?"

Sam groaned and returned her angry look. "I just think it's time I took a little break from demons," he snapped. "I'll still get Lillith but I can do it the old-fashioned way…with the knife."

"Oh, I get it," Ruby sneered. "Two days with Little Miss Dean and you're all boy scout again." She looked even less pleased when his gaze drifted to the brunette in question on the dance floor. "Why don't you just fuck her and get it over with?" she hissed.

Sam narrowed his eyes. "It's not like that," he growled.

"It's exactly like that," she argued. "Only what you two BFF's don't realize is that this is just some twisted, fucked up way of staying connected to Dean."

Sam didn't have an answer so he chose to ignore the demon. That had never silenced her before, however, and tonight was no exception.

"Look, I get it," she said, her voice calming slightly. "You two are grieving together and she reminds you of your brother yada yada but Sam, she's not going to help you get justice for him. She's not going to help you kill Lilith. You do remember Lilith, don't you? The bitch who had Dean dragged to Hell? The demon whore who's trying to become demon queen?"

"Yes I remember Lilith!" Sam seethed, his temper rising. "And like I said, I'll find another way to kill her."

"There is no other way, Sam. You've come so far and you're getting better every time you do it."

Sam sighed heavily. Ruby slid a small flask over the table, nudging it farther towards him when he made no effort to pick it up.

"Just in case you come to your senses," she said, "and just in case things get dangerous."

Sam gave her a suspicious, questioning look.

"We killed seven demons the other night," she explained. "And for some reason you decided sticking around the scene of the crime was a good idea." She tapped the flask. "You should keep up your defenses, just in case."

Sam bit his lip but slid the flask into his pocket. She had a point. He and Tasha were making rookie blunders such as staying in Pontiac and attacking a hybrid Chupacabra in its own lair. They were being reckless. Tasha especially wasn't usually that reckless. Her lack of caution in opening that door to Hell with the troll behind it was testament to how badly she had wanted that to be Dean, how badly she had _needed_ that to be Dean.

Sam had come to the realization that although Dean had been his brother, his _blood_ , the elder Winchester had also been Tasha's version of Jessica. Her first taste of love, her first chance at happiness, and her first adult pain of loss. He still remembered his own mindset after Jessica had died and knew rational thinking had not been his strong suit at the time. Much like now, he supposed. His heart was telling him Ruby was wrong but her words were making so much fucking sense.

"I know it scares you Sam" the demon continued, "but you can control it and you know it. It's the only way you're gonna stop Lilith." She glanced towards Tasha, who was making her way back to the table. "Drop the girl, Sam," she said hurriedly. "You know what we're doing is the right thing to do and if she sticks around, she'll only end up getting killed." She leaned back in her chair. "Besides," she added acidly, "you're just a distraction for her. A way to get her mind off Dean. She'd jump in with anyone right about now; you're just convenient."

Sam was denied a rebuttal for Tasha reached them and plunked herself heavily down in her chair, clearly feeling some effects from her numerous drinks. Sam tried to hide his anger at Ruby and gave Tasha a tight-lipped smile as he grabbed his coat. "Let's get out of here," he said in a tone that implied it wasn't merely a suggestion.

Tasha sighed and gave him a pleading look. "I'm not ready for sleep," she complained.

He caught her eye and saw what she really meant.

_I don't want to go back to the motel room and think about Dean.  Iwant to stay here and keep busy so I can forget about him for a while. I want to get drunk so I can dull this pain inside._

He knew that was what she was feeling because it was exactly what he was feeling. Looking at her now, he suddenly realized just how screwed up she was. He wished he could help but honestly, he was too fucked up himself to be of any use. He was in no shape to be giving emotional support to anybody, especially about the loss of Dean.

 _But he could at least try_. He pushed her half-empty drink glass to the side. "This isn't going to help," he told her from experience. "Trust me, Tash."

"This place is getting too country for my taste," Ruby interjected, steering the conversation away from the emo direction it was taking. "I got a bottle of Jack in my trunk," she offered. "Let's split.

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Back at the motel room, Tasha flopped down on the bed with a tired sigh. Ruby leaned close to Sam and gave him a disapproving look. "Since you refuse to leave town," she whispered. "I suggest you juice up in case the demons figure out you're still here."

Sam simply scowled at her and tossed his coat on a chair. He hadn't slept in two days but realized he wasn't in the least tired. He headed to the bathroom to drain the numerous whiskeys he'd had at the bar. Washing his hands and face, he took a good look at himself in the mirror and as usual, he hated what he saw. He wanted to see someone Dean would have been proud of but always seemed to fall short of the mark. But at least this time he could look himself in the eye. He had hunted today with no thoughts of Lillith or revenge and had saved the two or three kids that the Chupa would surely have attacked before moving on to the next town.

Of course, Ruby had been right. Sticking around town after killing Succorbenoth had been reckless. Not so much dangerous for him as for Tasha. Dean may have wanted Sam to continue hunting and saving people, but he wouldn't be pleased at his brother for putting Tasha in danger and possibly even putting her on Lillith's radar. Just like Sam had put Jessica on Azazel's radar. He had to make sure he kept Tasha safe if he was to keep her around. His hand instinctively reached for the small flask in his jeans pocket and he closed his eyes as he pulled it out.

He couldn't deny it made him stronger. He and Tasha had both been drinking at the bar so driving out of town tonight wasn't a favorable option and if there was even a chance that the demons would come looking for them….

He took a sip. Just a few drops, as that's all he could handle right now according to Ruby. He had to build up his dosage slowly and practice using his powers until he was strong enough to take Lillith out. That had been the plan. Now he wasn't sure what the plan was but it definitely didn't involve letting demons hurt Tasha, he justified to himself.

He felt a rush as soon as he swallowed the dark liquid, his heart speeding up and his senses all heightening instantaneously. He closed his eyes and stood in front of the mirror for a few seconds before realizing his enhanced state was now allowing him to hear the conversation in the room.

" _You want to find another hunt? "_ Ruby was asking, sounding incredulous. " _Now?"_

" _I'm not tired_ ," Tasha replied. " _And I just wanna keep busy, ya know?_ "

Despite the demon-blood that usually took away the hurtful emotions like grief and sorrow, Sam still felt a pang of pity for Tasha. He swallowed, not sure now if he wanted to deal with her hurt as well as his own. Maybe they should go their separate ways after all.

" _There's better, less dangerous ways of doing that_ ," Ruby replied and Sam was surprised at how genuine and understanding the demon sounded. There had been many moments that Ruby's sincerity had almost made him forget that she was a demon. He still couldn't bring himself to fully trust her, but he was definitely getting closer.

He glanced at his reflection one last time to convince himself Tasha wouldn't be able to tell what he had just done and turned towards the door. As he stepped back out into the room, however, he wasn't prepared for what he saw.

Tasha and Ruby were kneeling on the bed facing each other, Ruby's hands entwined in Tasha's hair and their mouths pressed together.

He stopped in his tracks, stunned. The earlier memory of Ruby telling him that Tasha would ' _jump in with anybody right now_ ' and that Sam was ' _merely a distraction'_ passed through his mind and he fleetingly wondered if this was Ruby's manipulative way of proving that point but the insanely sexy sight of the two brunettes making out quickly wiped that care from his demon-blood influenced mind. The brief notion of telling Ruby to back off and leave Tasha alone quickly dissolved when Tasha's hands reached up to rest gently on Ruby's waist. He couldn't help but stare as the intensity of the kiss deepened and the girls pressed their bodies closer together.

The next thing he knew he was climbing onto the bed with them, coming to a stop on his knees behind Tasha. She startled slightly when his hands slid round her waist from behind and came to rest on her hips. She pulled away from Ruby's mouth to press herself back against him, tipping her head back slightly. Ruby took advantage of the distraction to move her attention to Tasha's collarbone and together they elicited a pleased gasp from her as Sam's head ducked down to graze his lips against her neck on the other side.

Encouraged by her reaction, he introduced his tongue into play, flicking it in tiny circles and moving his lips up to her ear, nibbling the lobe gently. He could actually hear her heart beating and the smell of her skin was incredibly enticing to his freshly-heightened senses. Ruby curled her fingers around the hem of Tasha's t-shirt and started to pull it upwards. As Tasha lifted her arms to allow the garment to be removed, she reached back over her head and ran her hands encouragingly through Sam's hair.

"Are you sure about this?" Sam breathed into her ear, prepared to force himself to stop if he wasn't convinced by her answer.

Tasha chuckled. "Don't be going all prude again on me now," she teased. She sounded sure.

 _To Hell with it_ , he thought. Dean was gone and he wasn't coming back. Besides, Dean hadn't minded a little sharing when he was alive; why would it be any different now? His brother would want this. His brother had loved them both and would want them both to find comfort, even if it was in each other's arms … _wouldn't he_?

Besides, this was so damn sexy and he could feel the lust rushing through his tainted veins as his heart pounded wildly in his chest.

Sam leaned back and helped Ruby take the girl's shirt off. He quickly unclasped her bra and sucked in a sharp breath of air as he used his height advantage to peer down over her shoulder, watching as Ruby glided her small hands over Tasha's exposed skin and took a firm nipple in her mouth. Tasha let out a moan and pressed back harder against him.

The tall hunter could feel the pressure building in the crotch of his jeans and pulled his own shirt off, pressing back against Tasha and biting his lip at the feel of her hot flesh against his bare chest. Ruby pulled away quickly and slid off the bed, wrenching her own shirt off and wriggling out of her tight jeans and undergarments in record time. Sam could feel Tasha's small frame tense slightly at the sight of the naked demon climbing back on the bed in front of her and distracted her by letting his tongue rove her neck.

Ruby moved up against Tasha again, fondling her breasts and planting a trail of wet kisses around her collarbone. Meanwhile, Sam grinded against her from behind and found his breath quickening as he reached around and pulled Ruby's naked hips towards him, squeezing Tasha between them. Tasha moaned and crushed her lips against Ruby's again, kissing her hungrily.

Ruby returned the kiss with increasing vigor for a long moment before moving her lips over Tasha's shoulder to reach Sam's, her tongue wrestling with his for a few seconds before returning to the brunette between them. The demon moaned with lust and need and lowered herself down onto the bed in front of Tasha, lying on her back. Tasha gasped when Ruby let her knees fall apart, making it clear she was ready for more than kissing.

Sam swallowed at the luscious sight, barely able to believe this was happening and how incredibly turned on he was. He could feel Tasha's body tense, however, and wrapped his arms around her, his large hands sliding up her shapely torso to gently knead her breasts. "You okay, Tash?" he rasped in her ear.

She took a deep breath and he felt her relax at his touch. "Yeah," she said rather sheepishly, addressing them both. "It's just…well…I've ... never been with a girl before."

Sam was surprised at the revelation. For some reason he had assumed she had done it all. He realized guiltily that because she and Dean had been sexually adventurous didn't mean she was overly promiscuous before she had met him.

Ruby smiled up at her. "You want me to taste you first?" she offered politely.

Tasha shook her head and let out a little embarrassed laugh, letting her fingers glide up and down the naked flesh of Ruby's thighs. As she pulled away from Sam to lower her body down over Ruby and kiss her way down the demon's chest and navel, Sam stifled a groan at how ridiculously turned on he was.

His fingers dug into Tasha's hips when the girl's tongue finally reached Ruby's hot center and the demon gasped and fisted the sheets beneath her. Tasha was clearly a fast learner because Ruby almost immediately started to buck and squirm and cry out in bliss. Sam's breath was coming in harsh, ragged pants as he watched, his hands alternating between stroking Ruby's smooth calves on either side of his knees and fondling Tasha's jean-covered ass in front of him. Finally he decided to remove the denim obstruction and made quick work of Tasha's belt and zipper. She wriggled her hips to help him slide the tight jeans down past her hips but never stopped driving her tongue in and out of Ruby.

Thoroughly enjoying the anticipation and the sounds of Ruby's pleasure, Sam got Tasha's jeans and panties past her knees and off over her feet, tossing them on the floor. Staring at her inviting ass, he quickly unbuckled his own belt and within seconds his own jeans and boxers were lying in a crumpled heap next to hers.

He restrained himself from plunging inside her heat, instead forcing himself to watch the girls and let the anticipation mount. There was no hurry, he rationalized. Especially since he had just taken three drops of demon blood – he could last all night if he had to. Stuff was better than freakin' Viagra.

Ruby, on the other hand, was almost on the brink. She was arching her back upwards and begging Tasha not to stop. She finally released a full on scream as she came, her hands fisting in Tasha's hair and her eyes flashing black as she panted her way through her orgasm. They flickered brown again before Tasha raised her head and moved up over the demon to plant a deep kiss on her mouth.

Sam could barely stand it. He caressed the firm ass cheeks in front of him and murmured a breathy "Fuck that was hot."

All three of them now entirely naked, Sam ran through all the delectable options in his head, unable to choose what he wanted to do first and to whom. Tasha made the decision for him by turning around to face him and gliding her hands across his well-sculpted chest as she moved her lips downwards. Sam remembered his birthday present months ago when she had blown him in the back seat of the Impala while Dean was driving and couldn't help but moan in anticipation. That had been the best head he had ever received and he couldn't deny he'd though about it countless times since. Tasha was just reaching his hips, however, when Ruby interrupted, sliding an arm between them.

"Uh-unh, Sam," she scolded, a smirk gracing her lips as she placed a hand on his chest and pushed backwards. "It's her turn," she suggested, giving Tasha an appreciative smile. "Why don't you be a gentleman and give her a taste."

Sam's eyes locked with Tasha's and he couldn't help but notice her chest was heaving with need. He grinned at her and lay down on his back quickly, his hands gripping her taut thighs as she wordlessly moved to straddle his face. His tongue went to work right away, circling her nub a few times and flicking teasingly before delving inside her warm, we heat. She moaned loudly, her hands clamping down over his as she threw her head back in pleasure. Sam licked and sucked and plundered her with his tongue mercilessly, the sounds of her escalating cries and the sweet taste of her making his unattended hard-on twitch.

It didn't stay unattended for long. He felt a small hand of steel wrap itself around his length, pumping slowly. He fought to concentrate on what he was doing with his tongue to Tasha when he felt Ruby straddling his chest just behind the moaning brunette. He half expected Ruby to push herself onto his eager hard-on and ride him out but was surprised instead when the demon wrapped an arm around Tasha from behind. Her other hand still fisting Sam's cock, Ruby kissed Tasha's neck and glided her hand from one breast to the next and downwards, making its way to where Sam's tongue was working its magic. Tasha tipped her head back, moaning loudly and leaning backwards against the demon, their bodies now swaying rhythmically together.

Ruby's finger finally reached the girl's clit, slowly rubbing circles around it just above Sam's tongue. Tasha squealed and her fingers curled around Sam's so hard he felt her nails digging into his skin. A few strokes were all it took and she came hard, arching her back into Ruby and jerking her hips onto Sam's face. Licking at the sweet juices that trickled down her thighs, he pushed her upwards, no longer able to hold back.

As he sat up with two gorgeous brunettes still straddling him, Sam though he was going to explode from the mere thought of what was to come. Since Tasha was in the front, he pulled her roughly into a kiss, his hand tugging at her hair as he claimed her mouth with his own. He was planning on laying her back on the bed before ramming himself inside her but didn't make it that far. As soon as he was sitting up he simply grabbed her hips and yanked them towards him hard, thrusting his full length inside as he did so.

She screamed in thrilled surprise, wrapping her hands around his neck as he pushed her back and pulled her down on him again. He could feel her tightness around him but didn't slow down. She was tight and wet and moaning loudly so he simply pounded himself into her, wrenching her hips down on him every time he thrust inside. He was vaguely aware of Ruby crawling past him on the bed until he felt her nuzzle up behind him, nipping and biting his neck as he bounced Tasha furiously up and down on his cock.

"Fuck her, Sam," Ruby whispered in his ear. "Fuck her hard."

Sam did just that, groaning and panting as he poured all his grief and pain into the savage thrusts, turning his every thought into one of primal hunger and lust. Tasha's hips and screams matched his intensity, taking him in deep with every forward roll, her voice pleading for more every time he pulled out. They kept going, rocking together and clinging onto each other as they fucked with animalistic energy, their bodies soon covered in sweat as they panted in anticipation of the mounting climax.

It was Tasha who reached orgasm first, tipping her head back and screaming "Fuck! Oh fuck!" as she clutched Sam's shoulders and her body quivered through her release.

Sam groaned in satisfaction and held her body close as she came down but wasn't anywhere near finished. He let her slide off and lowered her gently back on the bed in front of him, watching her glistening chest heave with exertion. Suddenly Ruby was there, her hands clutching his face and forcing him into a hungry kiss. He returned it eagerly before pushing himself up onto his knees. In one fluid motion, he spun Ruby around and pushed her down onto all fours next to Tasha, guided his cock to the demon's wet opening, and rammed himself deep inside.

He began to rock his hips back and forth, quickly picking up speed and momentum. Ruby's extra demonic strength allowed her to buck back into him, meeting his every hard thrust with equal force, the sound of their skin slapping together in time with his raspy moans and matching her lustful, demanding cries. He pounded into her harder and harder and was excited even further when Ruby bent down to kiss Tasha, who was still lying on the bed with her legs spread apart. The brunette moaned into Ruby's mouth and Sam's gripped the flesh of the demon's hips even harder as he watched her fingers slide down Tasha's thighs to circle around her still-swollen clit.

"Yes! Sam! Fuck!" Ruby cried as he continued to slam his full length into her from behind. The demon's fingers were soon pumping in and out of Tasha's slick hole in time with Sam's thrusts and the sounds of two female voices begging for more was driving Sam so wild he could barely think past the rush of blood in his head and the pounding of his heart.

Ruby was soon jerking back at him madly as coma-girl's juices soaked the length his thrusting cock. He kept pumping, fucking her through her orgasm until she pulled away from him, flopping down on the bed next to Tasha, sated and spent. Sam looked down at the two slim, dark-haired girls lying beneath him and fisted his still-hard erection, flustered with lust for a moment and unable to decide what to do next. He'd never had two women before and was thankful for the drops of demon blood that he was more than capable of completely satisfying both of them and then some. He decided it was Tasha's turn again and simply pushed her knees up to her shoulders as he pressed his weight down on her and thrust himself inside.

The guests in the adjacent motel rooms must have been be wondering by now what the hell was going on because neither Tasha nor Ruby had stopped moaning, gasping, and screaming since this had all started. Sam couldn't help but grin in smug satisfaction as Tasha reacted loudly to this new position, her lithe body practically folded in two as he slammed himself roughly inside her over and over. Her fingers fisted tightly in the hair at the nape of his neck and she struggled for breath as he ravaged her, not bothering to hold back in the least. Her nails were soon scratching down his back and he groaned loudly in pleasure at the sharp, stinging pain as she once again reached the brink, this time taking him with her and he pounded his last few strokes into her heat before exploding deep inside, his fingers digging into her legs as his body went rigid and taut.

He sank down on top of Tasha, shifting so her legs could lower enough to wrap around his waist. He couldn't help but plant his mouth on hers, kissing her feverishly through their breathy pants. She welcomed his tongue and caressed it with her own, her hands suddenly gently stroking his unshaven cheeks as he rolled off her and sank onto the sheets at her side without ever breaking the kiss. He felt himself being drawn completely into her taste and her smell and it wasn't until he noticed Ruby's head buried in Tasha's neck and sucking loudly that he even remembered the demon was there also.

He pulled back slightly, allowing Ruby full access to Tasha's mouth and watched as the demon moved her flicking tongue up past the girl's ear and over to her already parted lips. Tasha's eyes were closed and she moaned softly as Ruby turned her head towards her and the two naked women made out, their hands roaming lazily over each other's bodies.

Sam pulled a pillow under their heads and slid an arm over Tasha's waist, quite content to listen to the soft moans Ruby's gentle attentions were eliciting. The lack of sleep, emotional overload, slight excess of alcohol, incredible sex and multiple orgasms, or all of the above had apparently tired Tasha out for within two minutes she was fast asleep between Sam and Ruby, each of whom had a hand gently stroking her naked form.

Ruby remained quiet for a few moments after Tasha's breathing had evened out, though her hand moved from stroking the brunette to stroking Sam's naked hip. "That was nice," she said finally, her tone pleasant and sounding sincere.

Sam let out a huff of laughter, not sure what to make of the demon's instigation of the whole thing or her now seemingly genuine compassion for Tasha. He didn't get a chance to figure it out, however, because Ruby sat up and leaned over the sleeping girl to give him a quick, probing kiss before hopping off the bed and grabbing for her scattered clothes.

"You leaving?" he asked in a hushed voice, not all that surprised.

"Gotta go digging around," Ruby replied, yanking on her jeans. "Make sure the demons don't know you're here."

Sam laid his head back down on the pillow, his hand still resting in the curve of Tasha's naked waist. "Thanks," was all he said, though he meant it sincerely.

"Don't mention it." Ruby's usual snippiness was back and he watched her haul on her boots and let herself out.

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Sam lay awake for a long time afterwards, his naked body pressed up against Tasha's as she lay sleeping next to him. He wondered what this night would mean for them. He remembered the petite hunter in his arms had admitted to only sleeping with Dean because she had been grieving the loss of her aunt and had needed a distraction. He had no doubts this was the same situation, for him as well as Tasha. But he couldn't help but rationalize that a deep and strong bond had blossomed from that first night of passion for Tasha and Dean. Could the same happen for them?

He knew they had agreed to stick together 'as friends' and he had been fine with that but after what had just happened… He ran his fingertips along the curve of her waist, up over her hips and down the length of her thighs. Yes, he definitely wanted to keep having sex. He didn't want to go back to being friends. God, even watching her sleep right now and feeling her hot breath on his neck, he wanted to touch her and kiss her and Jesus, he wanted to fuck her all over again.

He hadn't been with many girls. There had been a couple of one-night incidents in high school but Jessica was the first girl he had really known and cared about. As much as he loved Jessica and enjoyed making love to her, he had always restrained himself with her, forcing himself to stay gentle and loving, containing the beast he knew was lurking within.

Tasha was different. He could fuck her as hard as he liked and she took it, screaming for more like a true champ. And she did it without Ruby's advantage of demon strength and stamina. Ruby was a good lay when he just wanted to get off with no feelings involved, but Tasha was a whole different story. He'd first experienced a primal, unrestrained lay with Madison but one night was all he had been given with her and in hindsight, her animal magnetism and fierceness in the sack probably had something to do with the fact that she was a werewolf. Yes, he decided, he definitely wanted Tasha to stick around. He had no doubts what had separated her from the pack for his brother and had suspicions the same could happen for him if he let it. If _she_   let it.

There was a quiet knock on the door and he gritted his teeth at the intrusion, suspecting it was Ruby coming back to feed him some line about impending Lillith trouble. He slipped his arm out from under Tasha, careful not to wake her, and hauled on his jeans as he made his way to the door. Always a hunter, he automatically slipped his .45 in the back of his pants as he ran a hand through his hair, just in case it wasn't Ruby.

He couldn't make anything out through the peephole and opened the door cautiously, gasping at what he saw. He threw the door open to face a figure slumped against the door frame, hollow-eyed and shaking. Glazed-over, hazel eyes met his as the man took a swaying step forward.

"S'my," he rasped before collapsing into Sam's arms.

"Dean!" Sam cried, catching his brother as he fell.

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	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CrazyLadyinVegas, yeah that about sums it up, lol.

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"Dean!" Sam repeated, grunting under the weight of the now unconscious form in his arms. He half-dragged, half-carried the man over to the bed and lowered him down gently on his back.

Tasha had woken up when Sam first cried out after opening the door and was now pushing herself off the far side of the bed, holding the sheet bunched up in front of her. She stared down wide-eyed at the man Sam as unloaded him on the mattress.

It was Dean. Or at least it sure as hell looked like Dean. Sam didn't realize he was holding his breath as he felt for a pulse on his brother's – _his brother's!_ – neck. His fingers were trembling but he finally found one, slow and steady. He jerked his hand back and let out a deep exhale, standing frozen over the unconscious man for a moment before looking up as he tried to gather his wits.

He caught Tasha's eye. "Is it him?" she stammered, not coming any closer.

Still unable to speak, Sam could only shrug. He finally leaned over and lifted Dean's head, feeling around the skull for bumps or contusions. Satisfied there wasn't a head wound requiring hospital attention, he ran his hands over the rest of Dean's torso, as he had done on many occasions during their hunting days together, searching for blood or broken bones. He found none. He even lifted the t-shirt, sliding it up Dean's chest and gasping at the lack of scars. His brother had been torn to shreds by the hellhounds, his chest and stomach sliced into ribbons, yet the skin was now smooth and unmarred.

He strode over to his duffle and fished through it for a silver blade, holy water, a rosary, and a Taser before making his way back to the bed. Tasha had picked her clothes off the floor and was pulling them on quickly, holding the sheet in front of herself as she did so.

"Do you think it's really him?" she posed the million dollar question again.

"Let's find out," Sam said simply, pouring the holy water over Dean's face.

He got no reaction. No sizzling skin, no waking demon, not even a flinch of pain.

"Not a demon," Sam announced, encouraged. "At least not a low-level one. And it looks like the same clothes we buried him in," he added.

Tasha pulled her phone from her pocket and held it out over Dean's face, nodding to Sam to open his brother's closed eyes. Sam pulled the lids up while she took a couple of pictures and he held his breath while she viewed them back on her phone.

"No camera glare," she grinned excitedly. "Not a shapeshifter!"

"We'll double-check that when he wakes up," Sam cautioned, holding up the silver knife to demonstrate how.

"What's the Taser for?" Tasha asked.

"Doppelganger," he said simply. "Again, we'll have to wait 'til he's awake and healthy for that one but so far…" He let the sentence trail off.

"So far it looks like Dean's back," she finished for him, her eyes dancing with hope. "He must have come through the gate Succky made after all!"

Sam frowned, wanting to believe this was his brother but not quite willing to let himself just yet. He really couldn't open himself up for that kind of disappointment. Tasha, he realized, wasn't being as cautious.

He sighed and placed the rosary on Dean's forehead. He recited a Latin exorcism in its entirety, his voice shaky and laced with doubt. His brother remained peaceful, his eyes closed and his chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm and by the end, Sam found that he too was daring to hope. He gave Tasha a wary smile. "Not a high-level demon either," he pointed out.

She crawled onto the bed and tucked a pillow gently under Dean's head, tracing her fingers down his stubbled cheek as she sat down on the mattress next to him. "You think he's okay?" she asked Sam quietly, not taking her eyes off Dean.

Sam pulled on a t-shirt and sank into the nearby motel chair. "I don't know," he replied, honestly. "I guess we have to wait until he wakes up."

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Two hours later Dean still hadn't stirred. Sam barely took his eyes off the unconscious man the entire time and couldn't shake the irrational fear that if he blinked Dean would be gone. That his eyes were playing tricks on him or that this was just a dream and his brother wasn't really lying four feet from where he sat … _alive and breathing_.

Tasha was sitting cross-legged on the bed next to Dean and seemed to be of the same mindset for she too was staring down at him, her chin propped up in her hands.

Neither of them spoke much for the first while, each clearly lost in their own thoughts. It was Sam who broke the silence and he did so by voicing his guilt.

"We should have gone back to the mill. It's been two days since we did the ritual. He could have been there for two days," he said. "Hurt, alone..."

Tasha nodded her agreement. "I won't argue with you there," she concurred. "I deliberately didn't mention it when we were searching for the Chupa's lair because I didn't want to go back there."

Sam let out a short, mirthless laugh. "Me too," he admitted. "Just a couple of cowards, huh?"

"Well, I can tell you, I'm scared now."

"Scared it's not him?"

"Scared it's not…scared it is."

Sam gave her a questioning look.

She shrugged. "He's been in Hell for two months," she said. "You're the one who told me that people who go to Hell come out demons. Who knows what being there has done to him."

Sam pursed his lips. That thought had plagued his mind constantly while he was trying to bring his brother back topside, every day he failed to do so meaning another day for Dean in Hell. He had wondered on many an occasion how much torture a horde of demons could do to a soul in a single day.

"I think that takes years," he frowned. "Or decades, centuries even. He'll be okay," he said with all the confidence he could muster. "Dean's tough. He's the toughest guy I've ever known. If anyone can push past a tour in Hell, it's him. He'll be okay."

She was silent for a long moment. "Hey Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Will he want to see me?"

"What? Of course," Sam gave her a confused look. "How can you even think he wouldn't?"

She rolled her eyes. "He did kinda break it off with me, remember?"

Sam smiled at her. "He knew he was gonna die. If he hadn't had an expiration date…" He stopped midsentence. Now that he thought about it, he had no idea what would have happened if Dean had lived. His brother had admitted having real feelings for Tasha but Dean wasn't exactly the commitment type. Sam didn't know if he was even capable of having a healthy relationship. Too much self-loathing to allow himself something that good. The sad truth was that in all likelihood, if Dean hadn't thought he was going to die, he wouldn't have stuck around Tasha long enough to fall in love with her in the first place.

Then there was the elephant in the room – the fact that he and Tasha had had sex just a few hours ago, that the sheets Dean was lying on were stained with both her and Ruby's orgasms. He swallowed. _Jesus, could this get any more twisted and fucked up?_

He was admittedly a bit shocked when she brought the subject up.

"You know," she said quietly, giving Sam a guilty look. "I haven't been with anybody since Dean back in Phoenix."

Sam arched an eyebrow but didn't say anything.

"I just couldn't get over him," she explained. "Couldn't stop thinking about him." He saw her swallow before continuing. "Then I find out he's dead and within a week I sleep with his brother," she blurted with a humorless chuckle.

Sam let out a slow, uncomfortable exhale and bit his lip, not sure how to respond.

"Not that it was bad," she said quickly, looking uncomfortable. She groaned loudly. "Ahhgh… fuck, this is so messed up!" She rubbed her hand down across her face. "I don't know what to do, what to think, what to expect."

Sam knew what to do - what Winchesters always did. Lie. Dean never had to know. Two hours ago Sam had been thinking he could probably have feelings for this girl if he let himself and now, at the first glimpse of his brother, she was Dean's all over again. Not just in her mind but in his mind too. Ruby had hit the nail right on the head with that one. Dean would always come first, to both of them.

"Uh, let's just chalk that whole thing up to bad timing," he suggested. "A mistake that Dean never needs to hear about, okay?"

He was surprised to see a flash of hurt cross her face and instantly regretted his choice of words. He didn't think of it as a mistake. He had enjoyed every damn second of it and would have done it all over again as soon as she had woken up but right now, it was as if it had happened a lifetime ago. It was now just part of that empty existence he had been trudging through before his brother had walked through the door and given him his life back.

Her hurt look quickly turned to one of relief and she sighed, looking back down at Dean. "You're probably right," she said finally. "At least not for a while. But I really don't see it as a mist…"

She was cut off by a soft moan from Dean as his head rolled sideways and he began to stir. Sam jumped up from his seat to lean down over him. "Dean?" he called, hesitant to place his hovering hand on his brother's face as the unconscious man twitched and jerked in his struggle to find awareness.

Sam's heart skipped at least two full beats before pounding painfully in his chest the second those long eyelashes fluttered open to reveal familiar green eyes. "Dean?" he greeted them, somewhat breathlessly. Jesus, it sure as Hell looked like Dean. It _had_   to be Dean.

He forced himself to straighten up as he waited fretfully for a reply, giving the man some space to focus his eyes and take in his surroundings in his own time. Tasha had moved her hand to rest very gently on Dean's bicep but other than that remained still on the bed next to him, her eyes wide and anxious. Dean finally rested his gaze on Sam and the wild, confused look instantly left his eyes.

"Sam," he croaked, trying to sit up.

Sam lunged forward to help, steadying Dean's swaying frame as he reached the upright position and swung his legs off the side of the bed.

"Dean," Sam gushed, unable to stop the smile from spreading across his features. "Is it really you?"

Dean's brows furrowed. "No, it's freakin' Elvis," he scoffed, though the sarcasm was as weak as his voice. He glanced briefly at Tasha on the bed beside him but gave no reaction before looking back to Sam.

Sam took a deep breath and released Dean's shoulder. "You realize I gotta be sure it's you," he said apologetically, drawing the silver blade out.

Dean's eyes shot wide in alarm. "Dude, it's me!" he rasped, giving Tasha another quick, wary glance.

"Dean, you've been dead two months," Sam rationalized, not bothering to sugarcoat the situation. "Do you even know that?"

"Two months?" He tried to push himself off the bed but sank quickly back down as his legs clearly wouldn't hold him yet.

Sam nodded. "You were in Hell," he explained. "Do you remember?"

Dean's eyes darkened and his face tensed at the words and Sam regretted his bluntness.

"I remember being Hellhound kibble," he said slowly. "I remember pain and …well, more pain. Then I woke up in this little room in an old mill. I couldn't remember my name at first, but eventually it came to me. I was pretty out of it for a while, maybe a day or two, I'm not sure, but I finally managed to walk towards town and then I saw the Impala outside this motel and I remembered it was my car and then," he looked up at Sam. "Then I remembered you." His voice was choked with emotion at this point and he looked so vulnerable and lost. "You're my brother," he whispered throatily. "Right?"

Sam couldn't help himself. He leaned down and wrapped his arms around Dean, pulling him into a fierce hug. "Yeah," he breathed into the air behind his brother's head. "Yeah, I'm your brother."

He could feel Dean returning the hug, trembling fingers curling around the nape of Sam's neck and he closed his eyes for a second to let his heart expand, soaking in the feel of his brother, warm and real. He stayed that way for what seemed like a long time and his head slowly stopped spinning. Finally he pulled away again, fisting his hand in Dean's collar, reluctant to let go as he reached a full arm's length. Dean gave him a sheepish smile, clearly a bit embarrassed at the display of emotion and Sam let his hand drop.

"I still gotta make sure," he told Dean, wincing apologetically.

Dean rolled his eyes. "I suppose I'd be disappointed if you didn't," he agreed, pushing the sleeve of his shirt up and offering Sam his arm. "Me and Dad taught you better than that."

Dean scrunched up his face in anticipation and looked sideways as Sam reached forward with the knife. His eyes fell on Tasha, who hadn't moved or said a word since he had woken up.

"Hi," Dean said, looking her over with exaggerated appraisal and a cocky smile before turning back to Sam. "Dude, this your girlfriend?"

Sam glanced up quickly at Tasha and didn't miss the shocked and hurt look that passed over her features. "Uh, no Dean," he said as he sliced his brother's arm just below the elbow.

Dean flinched a little at the cut but no more than Sam would have expected. "No?" Dean raised a hopeful eyebrow and grinned cheekily. "Fair game then?"

"You don't remember Tasha?" Sam narrowed his eyes suspiciously as he wiped the blade and tucked it away.

Dean's expression quickly became wary and skeptical. "No…" he said slowly. "Should I?" Before either Sam or Tasha could answer him he gave her a sincere look. "I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I don't remember a lot of things. It's coming back to me in bits and pieces but there's huge holes in there…" He tapped his head. "Surprises me that I would forget you though," he added, his cocky smile returning. "Please tell me we know each other…intimately."

Tasha returned his smile, though Sam could tell it was a bit forced. She winked at him. "I'll let you remember that in your own time," she told him, letting him off the hook.

"So exactly what _do_   you remember?" Sam pressed, not liking this new revelation. He'd take his brother back any way he could get him, but whole and with memories in tact would have been his preference.

Dean sighed wearily, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "Like I said," he shrugged, "bits and pieces. I remembered my name. I didn't remember my car until I saw it, but then I remembered you." He looked back at Sam. "Now I remember Dad, I remember Mom and what happened to her, I remember we killed the Yellow-Eyed son of a bitch responsible, I remember being on the road with you and Dad, us as kids, a diner in Delaware with awesome cheeseburgers, your smokin' hot prom date givin' it up to me in my baby's back seat, hunting a Black Dog in Vermont, a Poltergeist in Philly that tore you up pretty bad, Meg taking a swan dive out a high-rise window …all sorts of stuff … it's kinda all over the map in here. Pretty random. And more things keep coming back to me but it's still jumbled right now."

Sam took it all in. "That's probably understandable," he said finally. "I'm sure it'll all come back to you eventually."

"Well one thing I do remember," Dean quipped, "is that alive people gotta eat. What do you say we find us some bacon double cheeseburgers because I feel like I haven't eaten in a month."

"Actually, it's been two months," Tasha joked back at him, getting quickly off the bed. "And there's an all-night Burger King just down the street. I'll go get us some grub." She winked at him. "Extra bacon and pie for the zombie."

Dean grinned back at her. "I like this one, Sam," he laughed. "Tell me we can keep her."

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They let the resurrected man finish his meal and replenish some of his strength before Sam insisted they try out the Taser on him. A well-fed but reluctant Dean finally held out his arm for Tasha to zap him while Sam peered into his eyes. They had it on the lowest setting, but supposedly a doppelganger's eyes turn white if it comes in contact with any substantial electric current. Dean's remained hazel as he hissed through the shock.

Relieved beyond words, Sam finally let himself accept that he had his brother back. He couldn't wipe the grin off his face as the three of them sat and talked and Dean was filled in on how they had managed to pull him out of Hell. Dean asked a lot of questions, his memory clearly still working on a part-time basis. He asked what happened to Ruby and Lillith when the Hellhounds had come for him and Sam told the same combination of truth and lies that he had told Tasha – that he was apparently immune to Lillith's power and that as far as he was aware, Ruby was dead. Dean insisted he didn't remember anything from his jaunt in the pit except for a fuzzy notion of extreme pain and a lot of screaming.

The younger Winchester hung on his brother's every word and studied every movement and facial twitch, mesmerized by the mere sight of him, flesh and bone sitting on Sam's bed. Tasha seemed to be experiencing the same overload of shock, relief, and happiness because she too couldn't take her eyes off him as he spoke. When Dean so much as hinted at a smile, both Sam and Tasha beamed back at him like kids at Christmas time, even if what he was saying wasn't intended to be funny.

Dean only lasted a couple of hours before he was nodding off where he sat propped up with pillows against the headboard. It was past dawn now and the motel patrons were starting to stir, the noise of the traffic outside increasing to a steady hum. Sam and Tasha finally reined themselves in and backed off enough that Dean could lie down. The hunter was fast asleep within seconds.

Tasha sat on the mattress next to him as he slept and Sam sank back into the motel chair by the bed where he could keep an eye on him, checking every few minutes to ensure he was still drawing breath. Neither of them spoke for the entire time Dean was out.

They packed up and left town as soon as he woke up, going through the Burger King drive-thru to get fast food for breakfast at Dean's insistence. He snickered at Sam for giving in so easily and wondered out loud how much his little brother would let him get away with, how long he could milk the whole 'back from the dead' thing. Tasha followed them in her Fiero and Sam was surprised that Dean had not made any derogatory comments about her car. He was even more surprised when Dean started searching through the playlist on the newly-installed iPod and settled on some U2. Not Dean's favorite band but Sam supposed there wasn't much AC/DC or Led Zeppelin loaded on there for him to choose from.

Subtle differences. There were subtle differences in his demeanor; not much, but enough for Sam to think the past two months had affected his brother more that he was letting on. Sam could tell Dean was hiding things, keeping things to himself rather than sharing and suspected the hunter remembered more about his time in Hell than he was willing to admit. Dean was trying too hard to act as if things were back to normal and they could just pick up where they left off and get back to hunting. Sam suspected his brother needed some downtime to pull himself together and suggested instead they go to Bobby's for a little R&R.

Dean shook his head. "Nah," he said. "Let's not tell Bobby just yet. Let's just keep it on the down low for now, 'kay?" He gave Sam a tired look. "It's not every day a guy comes back from Hell and I just don't want to be in the Petri dish right now."

"As if Bobby would look at it that way," Sam scoffed, though slightly relieved since he didn't particularly want to face the cranky mechanic's wrath for disappearing like he had after they had buried Dean.

"Yeah, well, I don't remember a lot about Bobby yet," Dean said quietly.

Sam relented, feeling guilty for pushing. He realized it must be hard to go through what Dean had and then get shoved back into your old life with only half your memories in tact. He decided not to press and to take it easy on Dean until he was back to his old self. At least Dean remembered him.

"I want to keep it just you and me," Dean continued. "You, I know I can trust."

"And Tasha?" Sam asked curiously. Dean still had no memories of her when he had woken up this afternoon. Did he want her to leave? Sam hoped not because he was fairly sure that would devastate her. Sam could see how much she wanted to throw her arms around Dean and let him know how she felt and although she was restraining herself admirably and playing it cool, Sam could see it was hurting her that Dean didn't remember her.

Dean threw a cheeky grin sideways at him as he took a huge bite out of his cheeseburger. "Oh, she can definitely stay," he said with his mouth full. "But dude, you gotta tell me, was I tapping that?"

Sam snorted his disapproval but grinned despite himself. "I'm gonna let you two figure that one out," he said evasively. Surely his brother's memory of Tasha would return soon.

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The next two days were like being on a roller coaster for Sam. He was ecstatic to have his brother back but the 'subtle differences' soon started to accumulate and began to eat at him. He ordered his burger without onions. He took a half-hour shower and didn't complain when the water ran cold on him. He laced his boots left foot first. He put cream in his coffee. He rested his right hand on the steering wheel when he drove instead of the left.

They had ended up in Lincoln, Illinois for no particular reason except that was as far as they had been able to drive in what little was left of the day. Tasha went into the motel office and rented two rooms, as they had done most nights while she had been with them before. She was quieter than she usually was and Sam found her studying Dean whenever the hunter wasn't looking, much like he was doing. It wasn't openly awkward that Dean didn't remember her because he was acting quite cavalier about it, clearly not realizing the nature of their pre-mortem relationship. Sam knew it had to be bothering Tasha and approached her about it while Dean was in the shower the following morning.

"You okay?" he asked sincerely. "About the whole memory thing?"

Tasha dismissed it with a wave of her hand. "I'm sure he'll remember at some point," she answered sounding positive. "He keeps remembering new things all the time."

"Does he…" Sam paused, not sure if he was being paranoid. "Does he seem different to you?" he asked cautiously.

She gave him a long, thoughtful look before answering. "Yeah," she admitted with a sigh. "But it's just little things. Like rolling his cuffs twice instead of three times and not tapping his boots for roaches before he puts them on. Most of that stuff was probably more habit from memory than instinct so it makes sense he'd do it different. As for the other stuff, I think he's just trying too hard to pretend he's okay. I think … I mean after being in Hell … well, that's bound to affect someone, change them. Right?"

"I suppose," Sam agreed hesitantly. "I think he remembers more than he's letting on."

"About Hell?"

Sam nodded.

"Yeah, you're probably right.  It's hard to tell because he acts differently around me than he used to because he doesn't know that he used to talk to me…" Her face took on a defeated expression. "Like, _really_   talk to me."

"Give it time," Sam told her sincerely. He genuinely wanted her and Dean to find their way back together again. As much as he had begun to think he could be happy with her, he knew deep down she belonged with Dean and he wanted his brother to be happy far more than he wanted it for himself. He was surprised she hadn't just come out with it and told Dean about their history but she had said she didn't want to put the added pressure on him of a relationship he didn't remember. Especially since they hadn't been together when he had died anyway. "He'll figure it out," he assured her.

She shrugged. "Don't get me wrong, Sam," she said. "I couldn't be happier that he's alive again. But if he's different on the inside," she tapped her hand just above her left breast to better demonstrate what she meant, "then maybe this Dean won't feel the same way the old one did. Ever."

Sam noted the sadness in her brown eyes. She was thinking that maybe this time round, Dean wouldn't fall in love with her. "He's still Dean," he assured her, though still not a hundred percent convinced of his own words. "His taste in food and music may have altered slightly but his core is the same."  He grinned at her, hoping to cheer her up. "He's still the cocky jerk you fell in love with. I mean, he did totally fake that tripping incident with you at the diner last night when he copped a feel."

She returned the laugh and threw a pillow at him just as Dean emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a towel. "Oooo," he grinned. "A pillowfight? Don't girls usually do that in lingerie?"

Tasha laughed and Sam couldn't help but feel better at the familiar playful tone of his brother's suggestive words. Maybe he was searching too hard for that bad crap that always came along with anything good that ever happened to a Winchester. Maybe for once, he should just stop looking a gift horse in the mouth and allow himself to be happy that his brother was back.

They found a hunt that day, a poltergeist gig in the immediate area that seemed fairly routine and spent the daylight hours preparing hex bags to plant in the corners of the house in question. The ritual went down with only a few minor hitches which included Sam being thrown out the back door into the yard and landing in dog poop, Tasha getting half the contents of the family's pantry dumped on her including a big bag of flour, and Dean pretty much getting groped by the form of the old lady poltergeist.

They stumbled back into the Winchester's motel room still laughing. Sam called first dibs on the bathroom, claiming shit definitely trumped flour and old-lady funk. He changed and scrubbed his soiled pants in the sink, breathing in the wonderful sound of Dean laughing. Smiling at himself in the mirror, he found himself unintentionally eavesdropping on the conversation in the room.

"You know, I remembered something about you," his brother said.

"Really?" Sam could hear the hope and joy in Tasha's single word.

"Yeah. You have the cutest little mole on your left inner thigh." Dean's voice grew hushed but it was a cheap motel with hollow doors and Sam could still hear him. "Right … here."

There was a moment of silence before he heard Tasha's reply. "And do you remember how you came to know that interesting tidbit?"

"Well, I can tell you," Dean replied, adopting the tone Sam recognized as his predatory 'looking for a lay' tone, "I am _really_   enjoying the images that are coming back to me."

Not sure what sprang him into action, Sam rattled the door handle to give them the heads up before stepping quickly back into the room, an uneasy feeling spreading through him.

"Hey," he greeted them casually. He nodded to Tasha, who was standing just a couple of feet from Dean, her hair still coated in flour. "Bathroom's free," he told her.

"'Kay, thanks," she said, giving Dean a beaming smile before passing Sam on her way to wash up. The elder Winchester watched her intently the whole way.

As soon as the shower started, Dean let out a long groan. "Now _that_ ," he said, gesturing towards the bathroom door, "is a nice piece of ass."

"Piece of ass?" Sam repeated sternly. "She's more than that, Dean. Don't talk about her that way. Don't you remember anything about her and you?"

Dean gave him a long, hard look. "I remember some," he said slowly. "Enough to know I care about her." He grinned. "And enough to know I'd like to make some new memories with her." He glanced towards the bathroom door. "Maybe I should join her in there."

Sam clenched his teeth. There was something about the way Dean was talking, the way he was acting, that just wasn't quite _Dean_.  Sam was getting an uncomfortable feeling and really, really didn't like the way his brother had been eying Tasha. Like a piece of meat, not like he truly remembered what they had shared.

"Dean, just … just take it slow, okay?" he said, putting on his best sensitive-Sammy act. "She's been through a lot and she …" He wasn't quite sure what his reason was for wanting distance between Tasha and Dean right now. "She's vulnerable."

Deep creases appeared in Dean's forehead. "To me?" he accused. "You're worried about me hurting her? How did I become the bad guy?"

"It's not that," Sam said quickly. "Just, please, give it a couple of days, okay?"

Dean rolled his eyes but shrugged. "If I didn't know you better Sam," he said, "I'd think you had a thing for her." Sam gave him a sharp glare to portray that wasn't the case and Dean relented. "Fine," he said, raising his hands in the air in defeat. "I'll leave her alone."

Sam plopped down on his bed, fully clothed and on top of the covers, as was his usual sleeping habit of late. Dean paced for a few minutes before doing the same. By the time Tasha emerged from the shower, only the dresser lamp was on and the Winchesters were both quiet. She looked back and forth between them both and smiled as she picked up her weapons duffle from the table and slung it over her shoulder.

"Guess I'll see you in the morning then," she said softly before turning to head to her own room.

"Good night," both men said in unison, watching her as she made her way to the door.

Sam lay awake for a long time, listening until he noted the sound of Dean's breathing even out to the slow, steady breaths of slumber. He just couldn't let go of the nagging feeling he had that something was wrong with his brother. That the Dean next to him wasn't the Dean he'd grown up with. He felt a pang of guilt shoot through him and worried that his motives for interfering with Dean's obvious intentions tonight weren't entirely above suspicion. Could the doubts he was feeling be the product of jealousy? The green-headed monster affecting his perception?

He couldn't deny that two nights ago, he was contemplating being – really _being_ – with Tasha. He hadn't been surprised when she had turned immediately back to Dean upon his return, which she clearly had, even if Dean didn't realize it. But he just couldn't shake this bad feeling that gnawed at him whenever he looked at his fresh-from-the grave brother.

Then a solution hit him. It meant leaving and he didn't like the idea of leaving Tasha unprotected but… that thought was interrupted when he scolded himself for even thinking it … she didn't need protecting from _Dean!_   He glanced over at the bed next to him. Dean's eyes were closed and he seemed to be sleeping soundly. Sam sat up and without making a sound, pulled on his boots and his jacket and slipped outside.

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It was well into the night by the time Sam made it back to the small field outside Pontiac. He grabbed a shovel from the trunk and trudged through the dark to the small clearing.

The wooden cross was still there, the grave seemingly undisturbed. He got to work right away, jabbing the shovel into the dirt three feet in front of the cross. Twenty minutes later, he struck wood. He quickly scooped the rest of the dirt off the plain wooden box he and Bobby had buried his brother in, dropping to his knees to shove the last grains away. He took a deep breath before pulling the lid open, pleading with the powers that be that he would find the box empty.

It wasn't. Dean was still in there, two months rotten and wearing the same clothes Sam had buried him in. Sam's heart lurched fiercely with shock and renewed sorrow.

That thing in Lincoln wasn't his brother. His brother was dead. His brother was still in Hell.

_And that thing was still in Lincoln with Tasha!_

  
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* * *


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will apologize right now, I LOVE cliffhangers lol. Both in reading and writing. So there will be a few more in this story. That said, this is the last chapter in PART 2, so no cliffie here :)

  
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It was a two hour drive back to Pontiac but Sam drove it in forty-five minutes. He called Tasha's cell only to hear it ringing from her jacket pocket in the back seat. He cursed loudly, realizing she had must have left it there after taking the flour-covered garment off on the way back from the messy hunt. He debated trying Dean's number but didn't want to risk waking him – or _it_ – up if it was still sleeping so he decided against it. They had chosen a small, quiet, out-of-the-way motel with no twenty-four hour desk or switchboard. Normally that would be considered ideal for hunters but for once, in this situation, Sam would have preferred a busy Holiday Inn or even a five-star Hilton.

He skidded into the parking lot a few minutes past four a.m., noticing immediately that Tasha's was the only light on with small rays of yellow escaping past the drab and stained curtains. He decided to try her room first, even if just to warn her that Dean wasn't really Dean, and he ran up to the door.

He could hear a commotion inside. Calling Tasha's name, he wrenched at the handle only to find it locked. Hoping like Hell he wasn't going to walk in on her having wild sex with the monster that looked like his brother, he shouldered the door in.

Dean was in the room but they definitely weren't having sex. Sam stormed in just in time to see Tasha rolling to the floor on the far side of the bed brandishing the knife she had just snatched from under her pillow. She spared a brief glance in his direction and he noticed the trickle of blood from her newly split lip. She took a defensive stance facing Dean, who was standing across the bed from her. Dean turned to face Sam and grinned when their green eyes met.

"There you are, little brother!" he greeted with menacing cheer.

"Sam, there's something wrong with him!" Tasha warned quickly, not lowering her knife. "Someone's mojo-ing him. He had a hex bag stashed under his jeans waistband." She tossed a small hex bag across the room to Sam, who snatched it out of the air without taking his eyes off the thing impersonating his brother. "And he's being _an ass!"_   She spat the last words snidely at Dean and Sam couldn't help feel a flicker of amusement at how much more she sounded like an annoyed girlfriend than scared.

Sam drew Ruby's silver knife. "It's not Dean," he revealed, still watching the imposter intently. "What do you want?" he demanded of it.

"What?" Dean shrugged his shoulders in feigned innocence. "I woke up and you weren't there so I figured I'd pass the time with Tash here." He gave her a lewd grin. "Right, Babe?"

"I mean why are you pretending to be my brother in the first place?" Sam hissed, taking a threatening step forwards.

"Sam, what's going on?" The anger was gone from Tasha's voice and now she did sound scared. Sam realized she had been thinking someone was just hexing Dean or influencing him but that it had still been Dean. Now she was terrified of the truth he was about to give her.

"Dean never came back," he told her regretfully, the painful knot inside him twisting tighter at the truth of his own words as he spoke them aloud. "His body's still in his grave. This isn't him at all."

Sam didn't have time to break it to her gently or to worry about her feelings at this point because Dean was lunging at him. He defended with the knife but whatever the thing was, it was strong and fast because it easily knocked the blade out of his hand and sent him sprawling to the floor. He rolled out of the way just in time to avoid a vicious boot to the face and scrambled to his feet while Dean scooped the lost knife off the floor.

Whatever-it-was was laughing and for the first time since his return, it was painfully clear that it wasn't Dean. A nasty, sinister cackle escaped the man's lips, a sound more abrasive and offensive to those who loved Dean than the worst of alarm clocks could ever be. "Glad you're back, Sammy," he taunted. "Coz this is exactly how it's supposed to go down."

"What does that mean?" Sam fired back.

"You're _supposed_   to get a front row seat," Dean replied smugly. "I was kinda hoping to have a little fun first...." he flashed a wicked grin at Tasha before shrugging his shoulders, "...but whatever." He was holding Ruby's knife out and he suddenly feigned left but dove right, over the corner of the bed and towards the brunette. She deftly managed to dodge the swipe of the knife aimed at her neck but took a hard follow-up punch in the gut that slammed her against the back wall.

Sam chewed up the distance between himself and the pair in a short second that felt like an eternity. As he rushed towards them, he noticed that Tasha still had her own knife in her hand but wasn't using it. Sam had seen her skill with a blade and knew she could have easily sunk it into Dean's briefly exposed abdomen. Her hesitation cost her the advantage and her attacker had wrapped his hand around her neck and slammed her head against the wall by the time Sam threw his bulk into him. Luckily, Sam's sizable frame managed to knock Dean off balance before he could bring Ruby's knife around for another stab at Tasha and the two men fell grappling to the ground.

Sam may have had the height advantage but the thing that looked like Dean had far superior strength. The younger Winchester quickly found himself on the losing end of the fight and was forced to bring his arms up over his head to block the savage blows that were being rained down on him. Even so, he noted Dean was simply punching him and not making any real effort to use the knife he had appropriated from Sam moments ago.

' _You're supposed to get a front row seat'_

Dean's words ran through Sam's mind. This thing didn't want to kill him, at least not right away. It wanted him to witness Tasha being killed first. It was toying with him, tormenting him, trying to make him suffer before it finished him off.

_Just like a demon would do._

He was trying to work out if a hex-bag could actually render a demon immune to holy water and exorcisms when he caught a lucky break and managed to shove his attacker backwards. He saw a still-recovering Tasha struggling to steady herself on her feet behind Dean as she pushed herself off the motel room wall. He tried to slide out from under Dean but the bastard bounced back too swiftly and dug a knee painfully into his chest, pinning him back down. Sam was unable to land a blow of his own and he literally saw stars when a hard fist to the face smashed his head into the floor.

He heard laughter as his eyes regained focus. He glanced past the fist that again struck his face to see Tasha behind Dean, her knife raised in both two hands and spared a thought to hope she didn't chicken out like she had earlier.

This time she didn't. She swung the knife down hard, sinking it up to the hilt in Dean's back and skipping away when he screamed and arched his back in obvious pain. Sam took instant advantage to land a few hits of his own that had enough of an impact to allow him to slide out from under Dean and roll to his feet. It wasn't lost on him that although Tasha had not been able to stab Dean's likeness to save herself, she had done that very thing for his sake, a fact he was more than grateful for.

The silver knife coated in dead-man's blood rammed into his back had clearly hurt and taken Dean by surprise, but it became quickly apparent it wasn't a lethal blow. Relieved of the mystery hex-bag, if he'd been a shapeshifter or a revenant, he would surely be rolling on the floor dying right now. Instead, he was back on his feet in seconds, charging after Tasha like a raging bull with supernatural strength and speed.

Neither hunter was fast enough to stop him and she was flung viciously onto the floor, striking the hard table on her way down and receiving a series of savage kicks to the stomach and face once she got there. Sam bit back his instinct to dive immediately into the fray and instead took the time to grab Ruby's knife from the floor where Dean had dropped it.

No sooner had his fingers wrapped around the knife's hilt than he lunged at Dean. Although seemingly intent on his furious attack on Tasha, who was now curled up and gasping on the floor, Dean spun to face Sam just in time. Managing to evade the hunter's first swing, the two lunged, ducked, and weaved violently around the room. Dean used the knife he pulled out of his own back to deflect Sam's swings but never made a serious attempt to sink the blade into Sam's flesh, instead restricting his strikes to shallow, sweeping arcs aimed at slicing, not stabbing.

Sam finally got a successful jab in, ramming Ruby's knife hilt-deep in Dean's shoulder. He jerked backwards away from him, noticing right away that there were no flashes of light coming from underneath Dean's skin, the tell-tale sign of a demon dying within its host.

 _Shit – not a demon either_.

"What the Hell are you?" he demanded angrily, his breath coming in harsh pants of exertion.

Dean smirked. It was Dean's own smirk and seeing his brother's likeness with blood all over the front of his shirt from a wound he had caused was making Sam sick to his stomach.

"I'm your brother, Sammy," he laughed, flashing Dean's own cocky grin.

Sam curled his lip in anger, determined to keep their foe distracted while Tasha pulled herself together. "You're not a demon," he spat. "Not a shapeshifter, not a zombie, not a revenant." Tasha was using the table to drag herself to her feet behind Sam. "That leaves doppelganger."

"But we zapped him," Tasha pointed out, her breath hitched and ragged.

Dean laughed. "You pussies only gave me a tickle," he jeered. "Too worried about your precious Dean."

"The hex bag kept your eyes from going white," Sam figured out.

"Yahtzee!" Dean exclaimed, sounding as much like Dean as he looked and churning Sam's stomach even more.

"Tasha," Sam addressed the girl without turning to look at her. "Go to the car and get the Taser." In his haste to warn her, he hadn't even thought to bring it in.

Dean's eyes narrowed and he tensed, the only warning of what came next. He lunged forward, trying to dart past Sam and go for Tasha again. Sam threw his bulk in Dean's path and took the impact with a loud grunt, shouting at Tasha as he did so. "Go!"

As he was knocked painfully to the floor and Dean moved to jump over him, Sam grabbed at the moving ankle, wrapping his hands desperately around the jean-clad leg and pulling for all he was worth. As he watched Dean topple to the ground next to him, he saw Tasha yank the door open and pause to give him a brief, indecisive look when she reached it. He could tell she didn't want to leave him alone with a super strong, murderous monster that looked like his brother, but the girl had good hunter's instincts and they would surely convince her the only chance either of them had was to get that Taser.

He was right. She left just as Dean's boot slammed into Sam's face. Sam wrestled with his brother's double on the floor but again ended up on the receiving end of more blows than he managed to successfully deliver. The thirty or so seconds it took Tasha to get the only effective weapon from her car seemed like an eternity as he took one brutal hit after another.

His face was swollen and blood streamed past his eyes from cuts to his brow, making it hard to see. His nose was bloody and painful and he had actually heard one of his ribs crack with the last kick to his side. He pushed himself up on all fours, coughing past the blood in his mouth and was thinking that maybe Dean had decided to kill him first after all when the bastard suddenly backed off a little.

"You have got to be the biggest pain in the ass little brother in history!" he snarled at him from where he stood. "You're whiney, you complain about _everything_ , you nag worse than an old woman, you have an unseemly amount of gas, and to top it all off," he threw his hand in the air to add effect to his rant, "you're banging my girl!"

"She's not your girl," Sam seethed, not bothering to refute the banging part. "She's Dean's."

"You forget," Dean laughed again, looking up as Tasha ran back in the door with two Tasers in her hand, "I _am_ Dean." He planted another swift kick in Sam's gut and lunged at her.

Tasha managed to toss Sam a stun gun before firing her own at the approaching figure. The prongs stuck in his chest but he surprisingly managed to sweep them aside with a howl of pain and kept advancing. She landed a fist in Dean's face but it had much less effect than the one he landed in hers.

Sam made it to his feet just as she hit the floor. The weapon she had tossed him was an older-model stun gun without the release wires so he launched himself at Dean, who had already picked up a knife from the floor and was drawing it back to plunge it downward at Tasha. Sam wrapped one arm around Dean from behind and jabbed the gun firmly in his side, squeezing the button.

Dean bucked and heaved, pushing backwards towards Sam and screaming in obvious agony. Sam clung on tightly, holding the gun in place and managing not to get thrown off as he was slammed repeatedly into the wall. The doppelganger eventually fell to the ground, dragging Sam with him as he kept writhing. They rolled on the carpet but the violent struggle finally subsided and Sam found himself lying practically underneath Dean with the gun still held tight into his ribcage.

He watched as his brother's hazel eyes turned white and the fight left him. Dean grabbed Sam's shirt collar in both hands. "Sammy," he rasped in a pleading tone. "Please … stop."

Sam swallowed but held his finger on the button, carefully avoiding touching the area of the gun to prevent shocking himself since it was set on maximum.

"S'my …" it begged, pleading with Dean's eyes not to kill him. His big brother's face looked at him like he was everything in the world that mattered, the way he used to when they were young. "I'm your brother … please don't. Don't let me die…"

Sam steeled himself against the power of its trickery and held fast. Its eyes finally closed and it fell limp on top of him, its weight suddenly a crushing burden. The hunter released the button and rolled the body off him, frantically trying to get away from it and up on his feet. He stared down at what looked like his brother's dead body for a long moment before both the emotional and the physical pain of the double-sided beating he'd just taken caught up with him. He'd seen Dean die too many times. He just couldn't bear to go through this again. He felt like he was going to lose it right there and then, snap and run away from the pain of his sanity, but the vague realization he wasn't alone held him together. He glanced over at Tasha, who was standing a few feet from him, also staring with anguish and despair at the lifeless form on the floor.

"You okay?" he managed, barely registering that her face was bloody and swollen and she was hunched over in obvious pain. He waited for her small nod of acknowledgement before taking a deep breath and striding quickly towards the bathroom as a wave of nausea hit him. Having barely eaten all day, he dry-heaved violently into the dingy motel toilet, gasping and fighting to restrain the strangled sobs that were threatening to escape. Drops of blood from his brow, his nose, and his mouth fell into the bowl, quickly turning the water pink as he stared blankly down at it.

Dean was dead. Again. And this time Sam had the memory of being the one to kill him to go along with the renewed pain and anguish of an all too familiar loss.

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He emerged from the bathroom ten minutes later. Managing to pull himself together had not been easy but the room was silent and worry and concern for Tasha soon overtook his need to be alone. He found her sitting on the edge of the bed, looking small and shaken. She had stripped the sheet and laid it over the dead body, clearly wanting to remove Dean's dead face from her view.

She looked up as Sam approached, her face echoing the way he felt. Besides the puffy cheek, the swollen lip and the blood trickling from her nose, the look in her eyes told Sam that her heart had just been broken all over again. He had a feeling the pain in his own chest was from the same thing, trumping the bruised and broken ribs by a mile. He sat down next to her with a sigh that came out as more of a whimper.

She leaned sideways, gently resting her shoulder against his bicep. "We're sure it wasn't him, right?" she whispered.

"Yeah," he assured her, surprised she could possibly still have any doubts. He supposed it was a combination of her not having seen the body as well as grief and denial. He stretched his arm out around her shoulder, giving her a comforting squeeze in lieu of any further conversation.

The ensuing silence was interrupted by a knock on the door and Sam sprang to his feet, his hand reaching for Ruby's knife on the nearby chair.

"Sam?" Ruby's voice floated through the closed door.

He exhaled loudly in relief and strode over to open it.

"Is that Chrissy?" Tasha asked, her surprise evident.

Sam nodded as he let the demon in, watching the new arrival as she wordlessly took in the wrecked room, the battered hunters, and the sheet-covered form on the floor. "You guys have been busy," she commented with her usual light sarcasm. "What's under the sheet?" she pointed to the body. "Rugaru? Demon? Shapeshifter?"

"Doppleganger," Sam said simply. "Why are you here, uh, Chrissy?"

Ruby gave a quick, wary glance in Tasha's direction before answering. "Lillith," she explained. "I heard whispers she's got some big plan in the works and you're the target."

Sam clenched his fists. "This was Lillith's doing?" he seethed.

Ruby arched an eyebrow at him. " _Was_?" She looked down at the sheet. "So the rumors were true," she breathed.

"What rumors?" Sam pressed.

Ruby squatted and gingerly lifted the end of the sheet, peering at Dean's face before replacing it and standing up. "Word is Lillith sent some lackies to investigate Succorbenoth's disappearance and figured out what happened at the mill. She decided to take the opportunity to send out a decoy to go after you, Sam."

Sam was barely restraining his fury and he spoke through clenched teeth. "This thing was answering to Lillith?" he spat. "I should have known. That bitch!" He slammed his fist down onto the table.

"You know how hard it is to make a doppelganger?" Ruby continued. "They usually come naturally … well, _super_ ** _-_** naturally … but to make one specifically look like your brother…" She shrugged. "That's high-level shit, Sam. Lillith's kind of pay-grade."

"But I don't think she was trying to kill me," he admitted with a frown. "Dean … I mean, the doppelganger … seemed more like he was trying to kill Tasha."

Ruby looked thoughtful. "That sounds exactly like Lillith," she persisted. "Hurt the people you care about instead; make you suffer first. She _really_   has it in for you, Sam."

A new bolt of rage raced through Sam, followed closely by a surge of guilt. He had worried about this possibility and had ignored it for his own selfish reasons. He had put Tasha on Lillith's radar, put her in a huge pile of danger.

"I need to take that demon bitch down!" he hissed, pacing back and forth at the foot of the bed. Tasha was still sitting quietly on the end of it, watching him intently.

"Don't worry, Sam," Tasha said softly. "We'll get Lillith. But for now, we need to do something about that." She pointed to the body.

"I'll take care of that for you guys," Ruby offered, earning herself a surprised glance from Sam. "You two look like crap and I can see how burning a guy who looks like Dean could be hard for you."

Tasha stood up slowly and stiffly, unable to successfully conceal the wince that crossed her face at the obvious pain of movement. "Thanks, Chrissy," she said simply before heading to the bathroom and shutting the door with a soft click.

Ruby waited until the water from the tap turned on before rolling the body up in the sheet and hoisting it over her shoulder. "I should do this now," she announced as she turned to head for the door. "It'll be daylight soon."

"Ruby," Sam called in a hushed voice, stopping the demon in her tracks. "Thanks."

She smiled apologetically at him. "Sorry I didn't get here sooner," she said, sounding sincere. "This could have ended a lot worse than it did."

Sam flinched. "Yeah, I know," he admitted, thinking only of the danger Tasha had been put in as he really didn't care about his own safety at this point.

"You need to kill Lillith, Sam," Ruby added sternly. "It's the only way this will end well for you." She glanced towards the bathroom. "Or anyone else."

"I know," Sam repeated, though this time his words were charged with anger instead of guilt. Anger directed solely at Lillith. "I will. Call me tomorrow."

Ruby nodded. "Of course," she replied quickly, turning once again and disappearing out the door with the large, white-clad form over her slender shoulder.

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In a small wooded area just outside of Lincoln, Illinois, flames danced from a makeshift pyre, the sizzling and popping sounds delivering proof the body adorning it was indeed burning its way to harmlessness. Nearby, a petite brunette sat cross-legged on the grass while the body of a local homeless person sat slumped in the passenger seat of the muscle car behind her, blood still streaming from his neck.

She was speaking in tongues into a large goblet, tracing her finger in circles as she slowly stirred its dark, red contents. Her eyes flashed black and she smiled triumphantly when a gust of wind swirled around her, clasping the goblet's stem tightly in two hands.

"Lillith," Ruby greeted, speaking directly into the blood. No reply was audible in the quiet Illinois countryside but it was clear the demon was receiving one.

"I'm just checking in," she said aloud. "It didn't go entirely as planned but I think it worked."

She paused for a moment before continuing.

"My hex bag trick worked perfectly. He completely believed it was his brother. He's gutted all over again. "

Another pause.

"Yes, he thinks it was all you. He's back on track gunning for you. He'll definitely start drinking again."

She smirked confidently down at the goblet in her hands.

"And he's getting so good, too," she said, pride showing in her voice as she recounted aloud Sam's victory over Succorbenoth while using his power.

"Well, that's the only part that didn't go as planned," she said in answer to an unheard question, her expression turning to a scowl. "The girl didn't die. But our boy did have to kill his brother and I'm pretty sure the whole incident was enough for him to send Little Miss Interference packing."

The blood started to bubble and Ruby narrowed her eyes at the concoction.

"Of course I've got things under control!" she hissed at it. "I'm right back in there. But," she bit her lip, her defensive tone subsiding, "just in case…I could use your help with one thing."

Her lips turned up into a malicious smirk. "I need you to locate a vampire named Diego…"

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Fortunately the motel had not been busy and there were no other guests in the rooms near Sam's and Tasha's. It seemed nobody had been disturbed by the ruckus of the early morning fight and by dawn, the early risers were going about their boring, meaningless, ignorant business.

Sam determined this because he was peering out the window every thirty seconds, partly due to his diligence in guard duty and partly to distract him from the dark and confusing thoughts swirling in his head.

He sat at the motel table, across from Tasha who was on her laptop, searching for a new hunt. They had decided to leave that morning and put some distance between them and Lincoln before the motel staff saw the wrecked state the room was in. After Ruby had left, Tasha had spent a long time in the bathroom before coming out and immediately hauling out her laptop, agreeing readily with Sam's suggestion to leave town.  Tasha's defence mechanism had always been to keep busy, keep occupied, keep distracted.

Despite his stony silence, Sam was fighting an overwhelming mass of emotions inside. He was griefstricken. Fearful. Guilt-ridden. Tormented. But most of all, he was angry. Angry at Lillith. Angry at her for making him believe Dean was alive, for allowing him to hope and feel again. Angry at her for doing the same to Tasha, whose devastation was not as well hidden on her bruised-up face. He was angry at Lillith for forcing them both to lose Dean again, for a second time. How many times was he going to allow this demon to rip his heart out and stomp on it?

He played countless scenarios though in his imagination, each one ending with him utterly decimating a pleading, screaming Lillith. He felt a little better after each one and he let the anger and the hatred slowly swallow the hurt and pain. It had made existing tolerable before and he saw no reason he shouldn't let it help him again.

"Possible wraith in Tallahassee," Tasha announced, giving him a weak smile before turning her attention back to the monitor in front of her.

He nodded, focusing on her face. He cared about her. At this point he didn't want to care about anyone or anything but he couldn't help it, he cared about her. Deeply. He couldn't spare the effort to figure out how or in what way but he couldn't deny the feelings were there. Killing Lillith was back on top of his 'to do' list, but keeping Tasha safe was a higher priority. The _only_ higher priority. He hadn't been able to save Dean but he _had_ to protect Tasha, for Dean's sake as well as his own.

Lillith now knew who Tasha was. She knew Sam cared for her. He had no idea how the demon queen had figured all this out, but Tasha was now in danger because of him - because Lillith wanted to punish him. His heart lurched painfully in his chest as the truth hit him. The biggest threat to Tasha ... was Sam.

"What do you think?" she was asking him quietly and he shook his head to snap out of his own thoughts.

"Huh?"

"Tallahassee?" she repeated. "Should we go after the wraith?"

Sam held her gaze for a long moment before answering. He let out a long exhale and sat back in his chair. "I think _you_ should go after the wraith," he said slowly.

Her brown eyes widened and he knew she hadn't missed his point. She shook her head, the wraith hunt clearly forgotten. "No, Sam," she said in a pleading tone. "We should stick together."

"I don't think that's such a good idea, Tash," he told her. "Not anymore."

"I do," she argued. "Now more than ever." Her voice hitched. "We're all we've got left."

Sam reached forward and took her hand, resting his elbows on his knees and focusing his green eyes squarely on her soft, brown ones.

"This isn't real," he said gently. "This…" he gestured back and forth between them both, "Whatever it is, isn't even about us. This is about Dean and us both trying to feel some kind of connection to him through another person he loved."

She shook her head. "I'm not trying to replace Dean with you," she denied. "And I'm not talking about sleeping together, Sam. I'm just saying we hunt together. Travel together. This has nothing to do with Dean."

Sam gave her a disbelieving raise of his brow. "Can you honestly say your feelings for me, friendship or otherwise, aren't all twisted around your feelings for Dean?" he challenged.

She didn't answer right away. "Can you?" she deflected, throwing the question back at him.

"No," he replied with convincing decisiveness. "No, I can't.  There is no you and me. It's you, me and Dean, whether he's alive or dead and whether we're friends or … more than friends."

She sat up straight, gently pulling her hand out of his, her face tight with emotion.

"This isn't going to end well," Sam pressed, determined to make his point. "It won't end with us being friends and I want to keep your friendship – it means a lot to me."

He wasn't lying. He did value her friendship more than anything else in his life right now. But he couldn't have her around. Not only would she be in danger but she would hold him back. He needed free rein to go after Lillith and he couldn't do that without Ruby and the demon blood. He couldn't afford to have to sneak around and hide what he was doing and he couldn't afford to have to worry about keeping her safe while he did what was necessary.

He reached up to his neck and pulled Dean's amulet out from under his t-shirt. He hadn't been able to get past his doubts enough to return it to his brother before the doppelganger had been exposed as a fraud so it had remained hidden the entire two days beneath his clothes. He pulled it off over his head and held it out to her.

"Here," he said softly. "I think you should have this."

Her eyes widened and she visibly leaned backwards away from the offering. "No," she finally breathed in response, reaching forward and closing his fist around the odd-shaped piece of jewelry. "That was between you and Dean. Dean would want you to keep that." She pushed his hand back towards his chest. "I am so flattered that you would give it to me, but you were the most important thing in his life," she whispered. "You always had been and always would have been. That's part of why I loved him so much."

She smiled up at him. "But it's not the only reason I care about you," she continued. "I care about _you_ , Sam Winchester, all on your own. I mean, maybe you're right about some parts of it. You could be right that what happened the other night…" she rolled one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug, "…was in part about Dean. But I don't think it was wrong and I don't regret it. In fact," she looked up at him sheepishly, "the only thing I regret is that we didn't try it on our own, just the two of us. I don't see it as a shameful mistake like you do and I wish you didn't either."

Sam smiled back at her, relief sweeping though him as he pulled the leather necklace back over his head and tucked the treasured keepsake back under the fabric of his tee. "I don't think it was a mistake," he admitted. "I just didn't want you to feel like you had to hold back from Dean when he showed up."

"Dean's gone," she said quietly. "I'll learn to deal with that eventually. But in the meantime," she looked up at him, "will you promise to at least keep in touch?"

Sam breathed a sigh of relief at the realization she was agreeing to go their separate ways. "Of course," he agreed quickly.

"And promise me you'll call if you get any leads on Lillith. Don't go trying to take her down by yourself."

"Of course," Sam lied, just as quickly.

She leaned forward and kissed him on the lips. It wasn't exactly a chaste kiss, but it wasn't asking for more. Sam breathed it in, determined to remember it for a long time since he didn't expect to ever see her again. He was going full tilt after Lillith and didn't expect to survive. If he was being honest, that detail really didn't bother him.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end of Part Two! :) Hope you liked it even though Dean was being tortured in Hell the whole time, lol. Don't worry, he's back for the third and last part (the REAL him), which starts next chapter and should be up tomorrow. It takes place just a couple of weeks after he gets out of Hell.


	21. PART THREE - Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CrazyLadyinVegas, lol, nope, I still have Part Three to go so she's safe for now at least :)

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**_End of September 2008 (after 'In the Beginning' and right after 'Metamorphosis')_ **

**_Dean has been back for 2 weeks._ **

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"Still no answer?"

"Nope."

"You sure you got the right number?"

"Yes, Dean, I'm sure. At least, that's the number she was using when I saw her in July."

Dean's hand rose from the steering wheel in a light wave of dismissal, his unsuccessful attempt to convince Sam it didn't bother him that they still couldn't get a hold of Tasha after a full week of trying. "Probably for the best anyways," he shrugged.

Sam gave him a reproachful look. "She needs to know you're back, Dean."

"I know, I know," Dean admitted. "You already won that argument, remember? I agreed to get in touch with her."

Sam huffed slightly but other than that managed to hide his frustration. Dean hadn't wanted to contact Tasha at all when he'd first come back. When Sam had explained that she had found out about the deal and that she still thought he was in Hell, Dean quickly agreed to get a hold of her to put her mind at ease, but he had insisted that they wait until they found out what had yanked him out and made sure this was permanent. Upon the discovery of angels and seals and the impending Apocalypse, he had almost backtracked to refusing to contact her again. Sam couldn't understand his brother's hesitation but had argued his way to a phone call for Tasha's heart's sake.

"I thought you would have been all over trying to find her," Sam challenged, not sure where Dean's continued reluctance was coming from. "I mean, you don't have an expiration date hanging over your head any more.  There's nothing to stop you two from being together now."

Dean winced at his brother's words, unsure of how to respond. How could he explain to Sam that the mere thought of seeing Tasha again terrified him? If he'd been unworthy of her before, he sure as Hell didn't deserve her now. Not after he had spent a decade throwing souls on the rack and ripping into them with both unbridled rage and sadistic enjoyment. He could barely look his brother or Bobby in the eye and was terrified Tasha would see right through him, see him for the monster he had become. The carefully constructed façade Dean had spent most of his life building up to protect his shamefully vulnerable heart had simply slipped away whenever he had been around her. It had been unnerving at first but it had been one of the reasons he had fallen for her so hard. Because she had seen the real Dean Winchester and had never judged him. She had figured him out and hadn't run screaming away from both him and his fucked up life like she should have. But would she still feel that way if she knew? How could she?

As much as he wanted to see her face again, not to mention hear her laugh and touch her skin and, God willing, kiss those lips again, he thought it would be best for her if he stayed out of her life. He didn't want to drag her into the new shitstorm the Winchesters had been thrown in the middle of. The end of the world – _the freakin' Apocalypse!_   It just didn't get any worse or any more dangerous than that. She was safest as far away from Dean Winchester as she could get. Angels and demons and locked seals and fucking Lucifer himself trying to come topside … no, he didn't want her anywhere near this mess.

"I agreed to let her know I'm back, Sam," Dean explained, "but I just don't think a reunion is exactly in her best interest." He held his little brother's gaze. "Think about it. Apocalypse?"

Sam pursed his lips. His brother did have a valid point. He hadn't allowed himself to think of the slim, brown-haired hunter much since she had headed off to Tallahassee to hunt a wraith two months ago and he had shifted his focus to killing Lillith. He had changed his number not long after they had parted ways in Illinois and hadn't contacted her since. Ruby had practically been living with him twenty-four seven by the time Dean and Bobby had shown up at his motel room door. But since that moment, since having his brother walk back into his life, he found himself wanting to see Tasha again also. A large part of that, he admitted, was in hope that she could help Dean.

Sam was incredibly relieved to have Dean back, to no longer have to live with the knowledge his brother was suffering unthinkable torture in Hell, but Dean was clearly hanging on by a thread, his time downstairs still tearing at his weary soul. Sam couldn't help but think that Tasha's presence could only help his brother get through this; that rekindling the love they had shared could somehow help make him whole again. He desperately hoped she could heal Dean because it was becoming evident that Sam wasn't enough. Dean was a mess but he wasn't talking. And now with the exposed truth that Sam had been fed demon blood as a baby and could now exorcize demons with his mind, there just seemed to be a giant, insurmountable wall between them. A wall of distrust, shame, fear, and secrets.

"So, what, she just gets a quick courtesy call to tell her you're back and then you hang up?" Sam said, his voice skeptical. "She's gonna want to see you. You know that."

Dean shrugged. "Maybe when this is over," he said and Sam couldn't help think how tired his brother sounded.

"Over?" he questioned. "Dean, this just started. We're no closer to finding Lilith now than we were before you went to Hell. The angels haven't told you anything so far except that they have ' _plans for you'_."  The last words were said with more than a hint of sarcasm. Sam's blind belief that angels were all good had begun to crumble when Castiel had ratted him out, leading Dean right to the address where Sam had been exorcizing a demon with his powers. The arguments that had followed had not been pretty and tensions were still high between the brothers.

"I get that," Dean admitted impatiently. "But until we know what those plans are…" He let the sentence trail off. "I'm poison," he finished quietly. "She's safer on her own."

Sam sighed. "You're not poison, Dean. _God_   chose you, remember? You think the Big Guy would choose just anyone?"

Dean just rolled his eyes, still not a hundred percent sold on the whole God thing. After what he'd done in the pit to all those screaming souls on the rack, there was no way that God, _if_ He even existed, had selected Dean Winchester of all people to do his bidding and help 'save the world'. That was a load of crap. The angels definitely had an angle.

"She doesn't change her number often," he said, bringing the subject back to Tasha and off him. "She doesn't need to because she never gives it to anyone and you're getting her voicemail message so that's got to still be her number. Why wouldn't she call you back?" He hesitated to even voice what was going through his mind. "What if Diego…"

Sam cut him off. "Don't even think that," he said sharply, though the very same worry had been plaguing him for a couple of days now. "I'm sure she's fine."

"Well, I got Bobby searching for any murders that would match what that bastard would do to her if he found her," Dean stated. "Just in case."

"I take it he hasn't found anything?" Sam queried, wondering why he hadn't thought of that himself. If Tasha had been murdered anywhere on the continent, Bobby would find out.

"No." Dean didn't seem particularly comforted and his brow folded into a frown. "Dude, why haven't you checked up on her in two months?" he demanded hotly, taking his worry out on the only available target.

Sam felt a pang of guilt and swallowed before answering. "I wasn't handling things very well," he said uncomfortably. "I mean, you were in Hell and I didn't think you were ever getting out and you were there because of me and … I didn't really have it together just then."

"Okay, I get that," Dean conceded, though his tone was still accusing, "But I _asked_ you to look out for her."

"I _was_ looking out for her!" Sam barked, growing defensive. "When we were in Illinois, Lilith sent a doppelganger after her because she wanted to get to me so I figured she'd be safer out of the picture."

"Whoa, whoa," Dean raised a hand. "A what? Doppelganger? Lilith? How does Lilith even know who Tasha is?" He took a deep breath, visibly calming himself. "Okay, start at the beginning. What the Hell happened in Illinois?"

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They reached Fresno, California well after midnight and checked into a cheap motel with an all-night desk. With a lack of leads on seals or Lilith, they decided to pick up a hunt and were here to investigate a series of strange deaths. Three local men appeared to have been run down though no cars were present. They decided to wait until morning to check out the police reports and morgue.

As was his new habit, Dean didn't take off his shoes or jeans to go to bed. After taking a long, slow drink from his flask, he simply lay down on top of the covers and pulled his jacket up over himself. Sam lay down on the other bed wearily, hoping tonight would be one of the few nights he wouldn't be woken by his brother's violent nightmares.

Dean wasn't talking about Hell and claimed he didn't remember anything at all, but Sam suspected otherwise. He had experienced terrifying nightmares both before and after Jessica had died, but his hadn't even been in the same league as Dean's. They were so bad that Dean was avoiding sleeping until he was practically dropping from exhaustion. Naturally, being Dean, he wouldn't admit to any of it.

Tonight, as it turned out, was no different. It was just past three-thirty when the younger Winchester heard a hoarse cry from the adjacent bed. By the time Sam pulled himself lucid and sat up, Dean was awake, his breath coming in frantic, harsh pants. He turned away from Sam quickly, avoiding eye contact in the dim room and pretending, as always, that nothing had happened and that he didn't realize Sam was awake. Sam debated asking him if he was alright but decided against it, instead slumping back down onto his bed and going along with his brother's ruse.

He awoke for the second time just after dawn and glanced immediately across to find Dean's bed empty. It barely registered on Sam's worry-meter, however, since Dean had been up before him almost every day since he'd returned. Drinking himself to sleep, waking up practically screaming every night, and getting up at the crack of dawn under the pretense of getting their morning coffees; that was the new routine.

Sam dragged himself out of bed and shuffled to the bathroom, flipping open his phone as he did so. He used the rare opportunity of alone-time to try and contact Ruby but, like Tasha, she seemed to be ignoring her phone of late. He took a quick shower to wake himself up and was just buttoning up his shirt when there was a soft knock on the door. Figuring that if Dean had forgotten his key he would have thumped more loudly, he had a strong suspicion it was Ruby. Wanting to avoid an ugly scene, he hurried over to open the door and send her on her way before Dean came back.

His haste caused him to forsake caution in opening the door and he was surprised to find Tasha standing on the porch smiling up at him.

"Hey Sam!" she greeted exuberantly, a wide grin on her face. "Cristo," she added quickly, pausing and narrowing one eye at him. Apparently satisfied with his lack of reaction, she resumed her cheerful greeting, this time stepping in and hugging him tightly.

He returned the hug, a smile slowly wiping the stunned look off his face. He moved backwards into the room as they pulled apart and she followed him in, glancing around with amusement at the particularly tacky decor as she did so. "Everything okay, Sam?" she asked.

Sam finally found his tongue. "How did you know where to find me?"

She rolled her eyes. "You left me like ten messages, dimwit."

"Yeah, I did," Sam said with mock sternness. "Why didn't you call me back? I was getting worried."

His comment was received with a sharp glare. "Why didn't _I_   call _you_   back?" she accused hotly. "You completely disappear for two months and you're giving _me_ a hard time?"

Sam gave her a sheepish look but didn't offer an explanation.

"Anyway," she continued, "I spent some time in La Pas and hitched a ride back on a Mexican beam trawler headed for Monterey. There was no cell reception on the boat and I just got stateside late last night. That's when I got your messages and figured I was only a few hours away so I drove all night to get here. I didn;t want to give you the chance to slip out on me again.  You sounded like it was urgent and you had me really worried, Sam. What's up? You got word on Lilith?"

"Uh, no," Sam told her, glancing through the open door to see Dean making his way across the motel porch. "Uh, I called you for a different reason."

Dean strode in with a coffee cup in each hand. "Here's your frickin' girly mocha latte frappe douche-drink Sam…" He went silent when his eyes fell on Tasha, who was standing near the bottom of Sam's bed, a few feet from the taller Winchester.

Sam saw the stunned look on Dean's face and heard the shocked gasp that escaped the girl beside him. He glanced down to see her taking a quick step back towards him, her shoulders tensing with fear.

"It's really him," he said quickly, realizing she was undoubtedly having flashbacks of the Doppelganger in Illinois. "It's really him this time."

She didn't move, her body still taut and ready for a fight. Sam noticed her hand was hovering near the concealed knife at the small of her back.

Dean recovered first, turning at the waist to put the coffees slowly down on the table next to him. "Hi Tash," he breathed, unable to hold back a bit of a smirk. "Look who's back."

Tasha didn't laugh or even hint at a smile. "Did you check everything?" she asked Sam, her voice not much more than a shaky whisper as she hovered nervously next to the towering hunter, eyeing Dean suspiciously.

Dean stayed where he was, grasping the fact that she was scared. Scared was a look he knew too well now, a look he hated having directed at him. His own heart was beating wildly at the unexpected sight of her and the first cognitive thought he managed to string together was _'my God, she's beautiful'_ followed by the realization of just how badly he had missed her.

"Yeah," Sam was saying. "Silver, holy water, the whole shebang ... and definitely no hex bag. I swear, it's really him."

"He's right," Dean added. "It's really me, in the fles…" He was cut off because she was already on him, flying across the room to wrap her arms forcefully around his neck. Her whole body was suddenly pressed up against his as she squeezed him, breathing small gasps of wonder and disbelief into his neck.

"Dean," was the only muffled word that escaped her lips as she clung to him.

Dean couldn't stop himself from returning the hold and he closed his eyes, burying his face in her hair and inhaling deep breaths as he struggled to maintain his own composure. He could feel his carefully guarded walls crumbling already as he felt her quivering softness against him and breathed in her familiar, captivating scent. Strawberry shampoo and … Tash. Nothing had ever felt so good. Forty years of pain and torture and he could almost believe the simple act of holding her close could wipe it all away. His pain and guilt and the constant torment his battered soul was putting him through started to subside instantly. He was struck with a fleeting desire to stay like this forever, wrapped up in this blanket of warmth and peace. He could almost feel the grip Hell had on his heart loosening, the constant dull ache subsiding, and the gaping black hole inside him shrinking.

It had been a similar experience for him when he had hugged Bobby and then Sam for the first time after his return. He glanced up now to see his brother looking politely away, giving the two a tiny measure of privacy and he felt a rush of an emotion he had gone so long without. An emotion he had worked so hard to avoid as it inevitably led to pain. An emotion he had given unconditionally to so few throughout his life and one that had always caused him grief and sorrow... Love.

He swallowed and pulled gently away from Tasha. He couldn't afford that emotion now. Even if he could figure out a way to hold the three of them - Sam, Bobby, and Tasha – close and safe forever and eliminate the risk of having his heart shattered, the fact remained that he didn't deserve this. He was poison. A weak, pathetic excuse of a man who probably didn't even have the capacity to love anyone anymore. The things he had done for Alistair … the enjoyment he had reaped from the screams and the desperate pleas… He suppressed a shudder at the dark thought.

He steeled himself as he drew back and his hazel eyes searched out her brown ones. When they found them, glistening with tears that were just now starting to slide down her cheek, he almost caved. He took a deep breath and gave her a restrained smile. "Hey," he said simply in a throaty voice.

She gave a short laugh, wiping the tears from her face with the back of her hand. "Hey," was all she said back, her free hand still resting lightly on his chest.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chap, I know, but the hunt and the complications start up full swing next chapter...


	22. Chapter 22

_Dean took a deep breath and gave her a restrained smile. "Hey," he said simply in a throaty voice._

_She gave a short laugh, wiping the tears from her face with the back of her hand. "Hey," was all she said back, her hand still resting lightly on his chest._

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They stayed as they were for the span of a few breaths, though it felt like an eternity to Dean who was struggling to keep his emotions in check. Tasha eventually spoke first, letting her hand fall from his chest as she did so. Dean felt the loss of her touch as a chill he likened to the warmth of a bright day's sun suddenly disappearing behind a dark cloud.

"How?" she asked, not waiting for an answer before turning her head towards Sam. "How did you do it?" A look of alarm suddenly appeared on her face and she inhaled sharply. "Oh God, Sam. Tell me you didn't make another deal."

"No," Sam said quickly, not sure if he was flattered that everyone seemed to know he had been willing to trade places with Dean or guilt-ridden that all his attempts to save his brother had failed. "It wasn't me at all."

She turned back to Dean. "So how'd you get out?"

Dean hesitated before answering, caught off guard. Tasha showing up like she did had thrown him. Not only had he not figured out just yet exactly what he was going to tell her about ... well, anything ... but he hadn't expected to be standing right next to her when the moment arose. Seeing her, hearing her, and _holding_ her had turned his insides upside-down and completely thrown the plan of keeping his distance out the window.

"Angels," he finally blurted. For some reason the truth had always come shockingly easy with her and it would seem that even after forty years in Hell, that fact hadn't changed.

"Angels?" She gave him the classic 'huh?' look.

"Yeah," he confirmed, his grin widening. "A real life Angel of the Lord came down into Hell and yanked me topside."

He gave her a moment, watching her as the revelation soaked in. "Why?" was her next question.

Dean snorted. "That's something we'd all like to know. Apparently they have _'work for me_ '," he quoted Cas, "but they aren't big on sharing the details."

A slow, sly smile spread over her face. "Sooooo," she said deliberately, " _God_   wanted you alive."

Dean snorted again and Sam chuckled. "That's exactly what it means," the younger Winchester chimed in. "God saw fit to save his ass."

Dean masked his discomfort at the implication of Sam's words by stepping towards the table again to retrieve his coffee. He wasn't anyone important, he wasn't special, he certainly didn't deserve to be saved. He also took the opportunity to sink into one of the motel room chairs in hopes of stopping himself from giving in to the incredible urge he was feeling to wrap his arms around the brunette again. He needed to get some space between them, far enough that he couldn't actually _feel_ her presence, far enough that he could think clearly.

"Did you see the angel?" she pressed, clearly finding this fascinating.

Dean nodded. "Yeah, but he's in a human vessel, as he calls it. Kinda like possessing someone only he says the guy was down with it."

"You talked to it?"

"It?" Dean chuckled. "I'm pretty sure it's a him.  Well, right now it is.  We've spoken a few times. His name's Castiel."

She scooped the second coffee from the table and turned to hand it to Sam before sliding into the other chair, inching it closer to Dean as she did so. "Okay," she said, leaning forward, her eyes still filled with wonder as she fixed them again on the resurrected hunter, "Sam filled me in on the details of Lilith and your deal but please, you have to tell me everything you've found out since you got back. I wanna know what's going on."

Sam was shocked when his brother started talking because Dean did exactly as she asked and pretty much told her the whole story. It was almost as if the elder Winchester couldn't help himself, the words just tumbled out of his mouth. He told her the last thing he remembered was the Hellhounds and then waking up in a shallow grave in an Illinois field. He told her about tracking down Sam (thankfully leaving out the fact that Sam was with Ruby) and going to see Pamela Barnes. He adopted a tormented look of guilt when describing what had happened to the unfortunate psychic and Tasha looked like she was going to get up at one point to hug him but, to Sam's surprise, she stayed in her chair. Dean then explained his introduction to Cas and their subsequent dream-meeting in Bobby's kitchen, telling her of the sixty-six seals and Lilith's plan to free Lucifer from his cage.

Sam pitched in, filling in the occasional gap Dean missed and together they broke the news to her that the world was at war and if their side lost, if Lucifer rose, it meant the Apocalypse was at hand and humanity was basically screwed. She absorbed it all in heavy silence and Dean continued his explanation, telling her about his time back in 1973 and meeting his parents. He added some particulars that were missed in his last recount and Sam found himself listening in fascination as Dean answered Tasha's question of 'What was your mother like?' with more detail and open honesty than he had to Sam after their argument about the use of his new abilities. Once again Sam was relieved that Dean skipped the part where he had found Sam exorcizing demons with his mind. He already knew Tasha's reaction to that would be every bit as bad as Dean's and didn't want it to turn into a two-against-one argument.

Dean felt relieved to get it all off his chest. Hiding the truth of his deal and his impending death from Tasha before had been difficult and stressful so it felt good to tell her everything. Well, almost everything. He had left out the parts about Sam and his new telepathic demon-ganking abilities. Those were Sam's shameful secrets to tell. He trusted Tasha like he trusted Bobby and felt she deserved to know the reality of the seal situation. Besides, he figured she wouldn't have let it rest until she got the truth out of them anyway. They couldn't hide something this big. They couldn't hide the Apocalypse.

He finally reached the present day and the current case and Dean kept talking, filling her in on what they had found out so far. News reports stated three local deaths in the past week had been attributed to 'vehicular manslaughter' but the circumstances were very strange.

The first was a thirty-seven year old man who had been found in the middle of the local ice rink where he worked. He was said to have been alone and locking up for the night at the time of his death. Tire tracks had been found on the ice and the body.

The second was a twenty-five year old male found on the seventh floor of an apartment building under construction. He had been working late and men working a couple of floors below had heard an engine revving and tires squealing but had found nothing but the murdered man by the time they made it upstairs.

The third was a forty-four year old man found in a fenced and locked park, all padlocks on the gates left unopened and undamaged. Again, there were tire marks all around the body but none coming in or out of the park.

The Winchesters figured it for a pretty straightforward case of an angry spirit possessing his vehicle and going after people he had a grudge against during life. After all, they had seen it before in Cassie Robinson's hometown in Missouri, where a hateful spirit had possessed his old truck and started killing people by causing horrific car accidents.

"Sounds likely," Tasha nodded in agreement. "What's your next move?"

"Morgue," Sam said simply, getting up from where he had been sitting on the end of the bed to grab his suit jacket. "We need to know what type of vehicle was used so we can figure out who the spirit is."

"Then we'll interview the families," Dean added, rising to his feet also. "See if we can get any leads on who had a grudge against these guys. Should have this wrapped by tonight."

Tasha stood with them. "You don't mind if I tag along, do you?" 

Sam smiled at her. "It's gonna look kinda funny with three feds showing up to look at some bodies," he pointed out. "You've been driving all night. You sure you don't want to catch a few Z's while we do the morgue run?"

Tasha laughed. "Are you kidding? My heart's still racing so fast I couldn't sleep right now if I'd been up for a week," she said with a pointed glance at Dean. "Best damn day of my life by a mile. I'll just stay in the car."

The brothers didn't argue and donned the Fed suits before they all went outside. Tasha locked the door to her red Fiero which was parked next to the Impala before heading to the back door of the Chevy and pausing, waiting for Sam to reach round and unlock it for her.

"Please tell me that's not your car!" Dean jeered, curling a teasing lip up at the pint size sports car that was being dwarfed by his classic beauty. "Why would you even waste your time stealing that thing?"

"Hey, I didn't steal it," Tasha defended. "I won it in a knife throwing game against some redneck in Kentucky. It's legally mine, registered and everything," she beamed. "Well, registered under a fake ID, but apart from that, it's completely legal."

Dean shook his head. "It doesn't even have a back seat," he scoffed.

Sam chuckled as Tasha raised a sly eyebrow. "Anything that can be done in a back seat can be done just as well in the front," she grinned cheekily. She was clearly referring to some specific x-rated memory she and Dean shared that Sam decided he really didn't want to know about since it had probably taken place in the Impala on the front seat where he spent most of his days.

He chuckled and glanced over at Dean, whose smile tightened with discomfort at the mention of the intimacy he and Tasha had previously shared. The elder Winchester tried to hide his slip but Sam saw the brief flicker of hurt that sprang to the girl's eyes when she noticed it also.

"So Tasha," Sam addressed her, changing the subject as he unlocked the back door for her to get in. "What name are you going by now?"

"Uh, still with Natasha Dunn," she answered distractedly, sliding into the spacious rear seat. "I've been laying pretty low recently so I haven't managed to get her in much trouble yet."

As they were pulling out of the motel parking lot, Tasha leaned forward to put her chin on the seat between the brothers. "So how long did it take you to rip out the iPod jack Sam installed?" she asked Dean with a grin.

Dean chuckled but it was Sam who answered. "Try all of ten seconds," he complained with a noisy huff.

Dean rolled his eyes. "This car's a classic, Sam," he argued. "Not some cheap hooker you can dress up with techno-crap." He cut off Sam's rebuttal by pushing in the AC/DC tape and turning the volume up. That was Dean's usual method of avoiding conversation, a hint not missed by the two other occupants of the car so the rest of the drive was virtually talk-free.

Luckily, it was a quick trip to the city morgue. Tasha stayed in the car as agreed while the brothers went inside as Special Agents Plant and Page of the FBI. After getting the desired response when they flipped their badges at the receptionist, they were led to the autopsy room to wait for the Medical Examiner to come back from his lunch break and discuss his findings with them. Sam could tell Dean was agitated and confronted him about the suspected reason.

"So, dude, what are you gonna do about Tasha?"

"What do you mean?"

Sam huffed. "You know what I mean. She's here now. You can't just send her away."

"I have to."

"Dean, that's not fair. You saw her when she realized it was really you. She's not going to just leave without a reason."

"Her staying alive is a reason." Dean was well aware he was simply arguing on autopilot. He had no idea what he wanted or what he was going to say to Tasha to get her to leave or even _if_   he was going to get her to leave. His head and his heart were pulling him in two different directions while his wants and his guilt were playing a serious game of tug-of-war with each other.

"I don't think that's fair," Sam repeated, pressing the issue. "I think we should let her stick around."

Sam's reasoning was two-fold. He loved his brother and it was painful to watch Dean so close to his emotional breaking point like he had been since his return and Sam honestly hoped Tasha could help with that. But having Dean back was also interfering with Sam's plans to go after Lillith. Tasha's presence would hopefully provide a distraction for Dean as well, leaving Sam with a little more freedom to do what he needed to do without his brother's suspicious eyes watching him twenty-four seven. Slipping out to meet Ruby was getting difficult, especially with Dean's violent nightmares waking him up at all inconvenient hours of the night. Dean had awoken to find Sam gone more than once in the two weeks he'd been back and the excuse of 'I was hungry' was no longer being accepted thanks to Castiel's meddling.

"I like having her around," he added, hoping to deflect suspicion from his less noble reason for wanting the brunette to stay. "I mean, she's great. She's fun and she's smart and a good hunter and we could use the help right now."

Dean raised a teasing eyebrow at his brother. "You got a thing for her now, Sammy? What, were you two gettin' cozy while I was downstairs?" he kidded, trying to joke his way out of the argument and having to make a decision. "Keeping the sheets warm for me, were ya?"

"What? No!" Sam denied, looking away quickly. _Too quickly_. "Don't be a jerk," he accused, a little flustered at Dean's joking remarks.

Dean's smile suddenly froze as he watched his brother's reaction – the little brother that he had always been able to read like an open book. "Sam?" he said simply, all traces levity gone.

Sam swallowed. _Shit, he could usually lie better than that._ "What?" he squeaked, failing miserably at sounding casual.

"Oh **.** My **.** God **.** You slept with Tash."

"No, Dean, I didn't … I never …" Sam sighed in defeat. "Fuck."

Dean raised a hand to stop Sam from talking, his mind reeling as he put two and two together. He walked a few paces away from his brother, rolling his shoulders in an effort to control his reaction, his chest heaving and his head cocked stiffly to the side in obvious anger.

Neither of them spoke for a long moment, Sam because he was holding his breath in fear and cursing his stupidity for letting that secret slip and Dean because he just plain didn't know what to say. He couldn't decide between hurt, anger, or betrayal.

"Well, now I see why you were in such a rush to see her again," he finally seethed.

"No, it's not like that," Sam defended meekly.

Dean clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white. "Well, I guess I did ask you to take care of her after I was gone," he snapped, now pacing angrily in front of the cadaver drawers of the autopsy room. "You sure as Hell did that."

"Look, it just sorta happened."

"Oh, so now you're using the old tripped and fell excuse!"

"No!" Sam raised his voice in frustration. "Dean, you were dead! You weren't coming back! I tried everything and you weren't coming back."

"So what, you figured you'd go through my stuff and see if there was anything you wanted to keep for yourself? _Oh, look, a hot chick! I'll try that on for size_." Dean didn't even attempt to restrain his sarcasm.

"For starters, she's not one of your belongings," Sam argued back more heatedly. "It only happened once and, I repeat, _you_ _were_ _dead_."

Dean held his tongue as he continued pacing, breathing slow and controlled breaths until he could think past the wild thumping of his heart. He cursed himself for being so shocked by this revelation, for letting himself be blindsided. Sam was right, he had been gone. Had he really expected Tasha to pine over him forever and never be with another guy? Especially when he had ended things with her weeks before the Hellhounds had come for him. As for Sam, could he really blame him? Tasha was intoxicating to be around; Dean knew that first hand. Could he really have expected his brother to spend any amount of time with her alone and not want to rip her clothes off like he himself had done the first night they'd met? Sam was a guy, after all, not a saint – a fact that had become abundantly clear a few days ago when he had found the kid throwing his mojo at a goddamn demon. And to be fair, Dean _had_   been dead.

Then why the Hell did the thought of the two of them together still hurt this much? Why was his heart twisting in pain inside his chest? Why was he finding it so hard to breathe past the constriction in his throat? Why couldn't they have found _other_ _people_ to seek comfort with - why did it have to be each other? He was jarred out of his train of thought when he realized Sam was still talking.

"It was in Illinois when we thought we had that lead on a way to save you," the younger Winchester was explaining, a hint of desperation in his voice. "But it didn't work and we were upset and we had a lot to drink and then..."

Dean raised his hand sharply. "Please spare me the gory details of the part where you had sex with my ... with my Tash!!" He hesitated to use the word girlfriend. He had never used that word and it sounded strange rolling off his tongue. A girlfriend was something men with nine to five jobs got. Normal men. Decent men. Men who actually deserved to be loved.

At that moment the elderly ME walked in, his uncomfortable expression making it clear he had heard Dean's last statement. Sam took immediate advantage of the interruption.

"Hi, Doctor Gerhart," he greeted him hurriedly, clearing his throat loudly. "We're here to see the three recent murder victims from the vehicular manslaughter cases."

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Besides a number of dirty looks from the medical examiner who clearly disapproved of an FBI agent who would sleep with his partner's woman, Sam was only able to gather one new piece of information pertaining to the current hunt. Dean had remained silent throughout the entire exchange and was now walking stiffly back to the car a few paces in front of Sam.

"Find out anything interesting?" Tasha greeted them as they climbed back in.

Dean couldn't help but snort and avoided eye contact with either of them as he turned the Impala's key and she rumbled to life. He was keeping quiet to avoid saying something he regretted, keeping quiet in case the hurt showed through whatever emotion he attempted to cover it with.

"Uh, yeah," Sam filled her in quickly, wincing at her unfortunate choice of words. "Turns out it wasn't a car but a motorcycle that ran down our three victims. The same one, by the looks of it. The tire marks were identified as a 240-series tire model used for the rear tire on low-riders.

"So we look for local bikers who've died?"

"Yeah. That and we should still interview the families, see if we can narrow it down some." Sam was making a valiant effort to act as if nothing was wrong and ignore his tense brother brooding silently behind the wheel.

"Okay, who's first?" Tasha asked, her question directed at Sam. She had clearly spent enough time traveling with the brothers to know the younger of the two was the one who usually had the particulars, names and addresses, all listed neatly in his notepad.

"Let's start with the business partner of the last guy to be killed," Sam continued. "He wasn't married but was part-owner of a bar on the edge of town." Receiving a curt nod from Dean, Sam pulled out his laptop and Google-mapped directions. The elder Winchester drove well in excess of the speed limit and got them there in about five minutes flat.

The place was called 'Grimes Bar' and looked pretty seedy. A line of polished Harley's and low-rider choppers were parked out front despite the afternoon sun not yet having reached its twelve o'clock peak.

"You stay here, Tash," Dean instructed, not waiting for an answer as he stepped quickly out of the car. Sam gave her an apologetic look but was relieved to see she didn't argue and made no move to follow them up the wooden front porch steps.

Dean stepped boldly through the front door, unfazed by the silence that fell over the room as he entered. Sam quickly stepped up to his brother's side, hoping his imposing figure would have some effect on the cold reception they were receiving from the numerous tough-looking bikers lounging in the smoky room. Sam couldn't help but think the suits and the G-man gig had been the wrong way to go for this interview.

A particularly large man approached them quickly, shoulders squared and chest puffed offensively.

"You boys lost?" he boomed in a deep voice, his words laced with threat.

Dean jerked his chin at him, not backing down in the least. "Lookin' for Rory Grimes," he said simply.

The man snorted, turning to laugh to the men behind him who were all glaring at the brothers. A chorus of mocking laughter sounded as the large man turned back to the Winchesters. "You lawyers?" he jeered. "Or Popo?"

Dean and Sam simultaneously flashed their fake badges. The man squinted as he leaned forward to read them.

"Agent Robert Plant?" he scoffed. "And Agent James Page?" Another chorus of laughter. In hindsight, Led Zeppelin probably wasn't the way to go with believable aliases with this crowd.

"That's _Special_ Agent Plant, Chuckles," Dean retorted impatiently. "Why don't you just tell Grimes we need to speak to him about his deceased business partner."

"Roar don't talk to pigs," the man replied. "Even fake ones. Get the fuck out of here."

Dean wasn't in the mood to back down. "Well why don't you tell 'Roar' that unless he wants to end up like his three buddies with Michelin marks on his face he should…" he cut off as the man stepped forward into his personal space, his huge barrel chest butting up against Dean's.

"Whoa, okay," Sam said quickly, shoving his hand between the two and glancing warily around at a few of the men that were getting to their feet. "We're leaving. Just trying to help."

"We take care of our own problems," was the snarled reply.

"Well, call us if you notice anything ... strange or if you need any answers," Sam said quickly, his fist wrapping in Dean's jacket sleeve and his other hand holding out a fake FBI card with his spare cell number on it. Hopefully these tough guys would realize soon enough that tattoos and bravado wouldn't stop a spirit rider out for blood.

He practically manhandled Dean out the door, huffing his annoyance in his brother's ear.

"Nice going Dean," he seethed as they made their way back to the car. Dean rolled his eyes but didn't argue. Sam was right; his pissy attitude had ruined whatever slim chance they had of finding anything out from those guys.

They kicked up a cloud of dirt and rocks as Dean roared out of the gravel parking lot.

"That was a bust," Sam announced, not hiding his snippy tone.

"So where to next?" Tasha asked, her wary look telling Sam she could tell asking what happened wouldn't be a good idea.

"I'll check out the local list of motorcycle deaths," Dean interjected brusquely. "You two go see the widows of the ice rink dude and the construction worker." His tone of voice didn't really leave much room for discussion and Sam quickly agreed in hopes of keeping the peace. Tasha didn't say a word but Sam didn't miss the confused look that passed over her face at Dean's abruptness. Dean pulled into the motel and got out quickly, leaving the car running as he grabbed Sam's laptop and headed into the room. Sam got into the driver's seat and pulled the Impala back out onto the road while Tasha climbed over the seat into the front.

"Is he okay?" she asked once they were out of sight of the motel.

Sam sighed, settling into the leather seat. "I don't know."

"Is he different?" she pressed. "After Hell, I mean. Does he really not remember anything?"

"He says he doesn't," Sam answered with a roll of his shoulders. "But…"

"You don't believe him?"

"He has these nightmares," Sam elaborated. "Like _really_   bad ones. I think maybe he remembers something, subconsciously even."

Tasha's eyes closed for a second, reopening filled with sorrow as she took a long, deep breath and tipped her head back to rest against the seatback. "What do you think he's thinking?" she asked quietly. "About me." She rolled her head towards the hunter. "For a minute it was as if we'd never been apart but then he seemed kinda awkward and now he just seems angry."

Sam winced. "He knows about us. He found out while we were at the morgue."

"Shit," Tasha groaned. "Sam, I know we had to tell him but I was kinda hoping it could wait a while. Why now?"

"I didn't plan on telling him at all. He figured it out."

"I suppose he could always read you like a book," she sighed. "Is he mad or is he hurt?"

"Bit of both, I think," Sam answered truthfully. "But don't worry, it's directed more at me."

"Is he gonna tell me to leave?" she looked pleadingly at Sam, fear and sadness practically spilling out of her soft, brown eyes. "I just got him back," she breathed, not waiting for him to answer. "I don't want to leave. Shit Sam, it's all I can do not to throw my arms around him and never let go."

"Just give him time," Sam assured her. "He's been through a lot."

"Hmph. Understatement much," she smiled though with very little mirth. "You know, I've only been near him for three hours and already I can't imagine being without him again."

"What is it about him?" Sam asked curiously, surprised at how relaxed he was with Tasha. He had thought maybe things would be awkward but apparently that was only when Dean was around. "You've always made a point to never get attached to people. What made my brother so different?"

"What's different about Dean?" she quirked an eyebrow at him. "That's a loaded question." Her gaze drifted out the passenger window at the scenery scrolling by. "He just seemed to get me, I guess," she said softly after a long pause. "He doesn't judge me like civilians do but he doesn't pity me like most hunters do and … there's just something about him. It almost seemed like he needed me," she threw a quick glance back at Sam. "That sounds strange, I know, because Dean's the most self-reliant guy on the planet but I've never had anyone need me before."

Sam knew exactly what she meant.  Dean didn't need anyone in a physical sense but emotionally... "He needs you now," he said quietly.

She snorted. "I get the feeling he's about an inch away from sending me packing." She inhaled deeply. "I'm not gonna let him push me away," she said decisively. "He'll think he's doing me this big favor but he's not. I don't want to be alone again and I'm not gonna get over him or move on.  Eevn if I wanted to, I couldn't." She rubbed her hand down over her face. "I'll give him some space but I'm not leaving."

"Good," Sam nodded in amused agreement. Tasha was stubborn, maybe even as stubborn as his pig-headed, self-loathing brother. At the very least, this would be an interesting battle of wills to watch if Dean tried to make good on his threat to part ways with the feisty brunette again.

It took some time, but they tracked down both widows and obtained some useful information. Most significantly, both victims had been jumpy and on edge for a couple of days before they died. The wife of the younger man who had been killed at the construction site told them her husband had seen a riderless bike driving down the road a couple of nights prior to his death. He had refused to say much else about it but had been spending all of his free time at the bar with his friends since then. The hunters asked if the deceased men were bikers themselves and were informed that both belonged to a local biker gang by the name Bastardos Manchados, or Tainted Bastards, the members of which apparently hung out at Grimes Bar.

The pieces were starting to fit together.

The third victim, the one who had died in the park, was the co-owner of the bar and Vice-President of the bike Club. Both widows had admitted they believed his business partner, Rory 'Roar' Grimes, also the Club President and the man the Winchesters had been unable to get face time with earlier at the bar, most likely knew exactly what was going on and who had killed their husbands. They also insisted the local police were doing squat about it. Neither woman seemed fond of the local cops despite being surprisingly civil to Federal Agents Page and Cornell, especially the tall, broad-shouldered Agent Page.

They thanked the second widow politely and left. Agreeing that Dean would undoubtedly be hungry, since he was _always_ hungry, they picked up fast food on the way back to the motel.

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	23. Chapter 23

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Tasha remained fairly quiet over their supper, as did Dean, leaving Sam to do most of the talking. Dean had found numerous motorcycle deaths in the area over the past two decades, far too many to start digging up corpses for salt-and-burns. The hunters knew their best shot at narrowing it down was talking to the gang members. If there was a ghost bike making an appearance, then these guys would know exactly who the spirit was because they would without a doubt recognize the bike. These men didn't ride generic store-bought machines; their bikes were a source of pride and respect, custom-built and treated more fondly than Dean treated the Impala.

Tasha suggested she go to the bar since the bikers would naturally have been hostile towards a couple of 'Alpha men' like the Winchesters, especially while wearing suites and flashing badges, but that she would have a better chance of talking to them. Dean vetoed that idea immediately.

"It's just a local gang, Dean," she argued. "It's not like it's a chapter of the Hell's Angels or anything. And they're probably scared shitless of this killer ghost. I can handle them."

"Not a good idea," he insisted and she relented with a shrug.

Sam was a bit surprised she dropped it as quickly as she did but the tension had dissolved from the air over the span of their meal and he figured she was trying to keep things from getting awkward again.

Sam reckoned the pair could handle a few minutes alone and made a quick excuse to go out to the car. In truth, he needed to try Ruby again. He had been completely out of demon blood for days now and was starting to feel the effects. It wasn't like he was taking a lot, he justified - just enough to keep him on his toes in case a demon showed up to threaten Dean. He wasn't losing his brother again.

Dean swallowed his last french fry, very conscious of his brother's departure as it left him alone with Tasha. She was quiet for a moment after the tiny but thunderous click of Sam closing the door behind him and Dean remained seated at the table, making sure he didn't leave any opening for physical contact or intimacy. Sitting on the bottom of the nearest bed, she finally caught his eye and smiled at him, holding his gaze.

"You okay, Dean?" she asked _._

 _Shit,_ he thought _._ She was using _that_   voice, her pillowtalk voice, the one he had opened up so easily to in their time together a lifetime ago.

He wanted to tell her no. He wanted to tell her he wasn't fit to breathe the same air as decent people and that he was worse than the monsters they hunted. He wanted to tell her he hadn't deserved to be saved and that God and Castiel had made a terrible mistake. He wanted to explain that sometimes he believed bringing him back had been punishment for his sins in Hell because now he had to walk around knowing what he had done and what he had so easily become. He had to live with this goddamn twisted knot of pain in his heart because he couldn't stop _feeling_. He wanted so badly to simply not care like the animal he had become downstairs had done, but he just couldn't switch off the hurt now that he was human again.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he said simply.

"So you don't remember anything, huh?"

"No," he lied.

"That's good," she said, looking genuinely relieved. "That's a good thing."

Dean averted his eyes. He hated lying to her. "Enough about me," he deflected, not wanting her to ask any more questions about Hell. "So how about you? You been alright?"

Tasha looked surprised at the question. "Me?"

He couldn't help but smile at her. "It's a simple question. How've you been?"

His concern was genuine. He realized there was no way he could hate her or even want to hate her. He felt hurt and betrayed right now but the feelings he had for her were still there as strong as they ever were. He had known that the moment he had set eyes on her again this morning. He felt his anger dissipating quickly as her brown eyes questioned him and he could see she was genuinely flustered that he was suddenly returning her concern.

"I don't really have an answer for that," she replied, her eyebrows pulling together in a frown.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, compared to where you've been, Dean … any problem I've had would seem pretty trivial right now."

"I would never consider your problems trivial," Dean assured her quickly. He wanted to tell her that he had missed her and that if he had it his way she would never have another problem as long as she lived but he bit his tongue, content for now with the fact that they were having a real conversation. "I just want to know how you've been," he said seriously.

"You were burning in Hell," she said, her voice hitching into a whisper. "How do you think I've been?"

A harsh sigh escaped his lips. He had been hoping for a recount of her time in Mexico or the explanation of how she got that new scar he had noticed on her hip, peering out of the top of her low-cut jeans. He nodded acknowledgement of her honesty but was relieved to hear the door opening as Sam came back in, saving him from having a discussion he wasn't ready to have with her yet. He didn't know where they stood and was hoping to avoid having to figure that out for as long as he could.

"Dude, you got Ruby's knife on you?" Sam blurted. "It's not in the trunk."

Dean leaned forward and pulled the blade out of the back of his pants, holding it up for his brother to see. "Too many damn demons around these days," he said simply. "Can't be too careful. It won't do us any good in the trunk."

"That's a sweet blade," Tasha interjected, grinning at the younger Winchester. "At least you making nice with a demon had one advantage, Sam."

Dean snorted his disapproval. "Making nice? That's one way to put it. Tell me Sam," he sneered, "How is Ruby anyway? Or is she going by Chrissy now?" Chrissy was the name the demon had used when pretending to be a one-night-stand the younger Winchester had picked up when Dean and Bobby had shown up at Sam's door two weeks ago.

Tasha looked up sharply. "Chrissy?" she questioned, her eyes narrowing at Sam. "Petite brunette with Julia Roberts lips and Sarah Connor attitude?"

Sam stifled a groan, easily reading the suspicion in her eyes. He pleaded under his breath for Dean to keep silent while he frantically scrambled for a way to redirect this conversation. Dean didn't cooperate.

"Oh, you met her?" the elder Winchester raised an eyebrow, looking first at Tasha then at his brother. "Forgot to mention something to Tash did you Sam?" he said laying on the sarcasm. "Like that your girlfriend is a black-eyed demon-bitch?"

Sam was too busy staring at Tasha in fear to even acknowledge his brother's snide remarks. The brunette was glaring at him, wild-eyed and shocked, her jaw clenched in barely concealed anger.

"Chrissy is Ruby?" she repeated slowly through gritted teeth, her tone challenging.

"Tash, she's on our side," Sam gushed, swallowing with both dread and regret.

"Oh my God!" she yelled directly at him. "A demon!"

"She…"

Sam was silenced by Tasha's hand snapping up into the air, fingers splayed and palm outwards towards him. She jumped off the bed, giving the confused Dean a quick glance before heading straight for the door.

"Tasha!" Sam called, reaching his hand out to stop her.

She arched out of his reach and yanked the door open. "I need some air," she snapped, storming out and slamming the door behind her.

Sam winced at the loud bang the cheap motel door made. He looked nervously to Dean, not wanting to have to explain why Tasha was so upset. His brother had a puzzled expression on his face but was rising to his feet, clearly planning on following the girl out.

"No, wait," Sam stepped towards the door, holding his arm out to stop Dean. "Let me talk to her." He didn't wait for a reply but quickly exited, closing the door behind him to prevent Dean from following.

Tasha had made it as far as the back of her car, where she was now standing leaning her hand on her rear spoiler. She was clearly freaked out and was taking deep, heaving breaths, oblivious to Sam's approach. His heart was pounding and he had no idea how he was going to explain why he had let her have sex with a demon. There wasn't really an excuse for that. She wasn't going to forgive him for something so low.

He strode up to her, placing his hand gingerly on her shoulder. "Tash," he said softly in his best sensitive-Sammy voice.

She jumped and spun around to face him, shaking her head and shrugging his hand off her when she caught his eye. "Sam, I don't want to talk to you right now," she hissed but continued anyway. "Jesus!" she cursed at him. "A demon! Goddamnit!" Her arms were waving in the air with angry animation. "There was a girl in there!" Her voice hitched and she covered her mouth with her hand. "We …" she shuddered, closing her eyes "Jesus, Sam, we _raped_   a girl!"

"No! No, Tasha, we didn't," Sam insisted quickly. She looked like she was about to get sick, her face white with horror and shame.

"Oh! You think the girl in there _wanted_   to let total strangers do what we did to her? She was possessed, you fucking jerk!"

"No, let me explain," Sam argued, grabbing her shaking shoulders to hold her still. She squirmed and put her hands against his chest to push him away but he gripped her tightly and she finally relented, stopping her struggling.

"The girl died before Ruby moved into the body," Sam explained. "I swear, there's just Ruby in there. I never would have touched her otherwise."

Tasha stared at him intently, her chest still heaving and her hands still fisted in the front of his shirt. "How do you know that?" she croaked.

"I gave her crap about possessing the secretary she was in and getting the blonde killed that she possessed last year," he said, his voice pleading. "She agreed and so she found this already-dead girl in a coma. She showed me the medical papers and the heart monitor log and everything."

He felt her relax in his grip a little, though she continued to breathe heavily and lean on him. "She's still a demon," she whispered. "You should have told me."

Sam couldn't help but smile, more in relief than anything else. "I know," he admitted, "but I didn't expect you to start making out with her."

She looked up at the tall hunter, giving him a disapproving glare. "Hey! She kissed me first," she said with an indignant look, letting her hands drop.

Sam let go of her also and leaned back to half-sit on the Fiero's spoiler. "I'm sorry," he said sincerely. "I know I should have told you but I knew what your reaction would be." He sighed. "The same as Dean's."

"You're trusting a demon," she chastised. "You know how stupid that is?"

"You have to admit, Ruby was helping us in Illinois," he pointed out. "Or Chrissy, as you knew her."

Tasha shrugged. "She sure seemed to be on the level," she admitted, turning and leaning against the back of her car next to Sam. "But you need to be careful."

"I know," Sam agreed, nodding. "I know what she is and I'm keeping my eyes open. I'm not being naïve or gullible. I take everything she says or does with a grain of salt but the truth is, she's saved my life more than once. She showed me how to make these hex bags that hide us from Lillith and she went to Hell the same time Dean did trying to save us."

Tasha let out a long sigh. "I just don't want you to get hurt," she told him in a defeated tone that Sam hoped meant she had forgiven him, at least for now.

He nudged her shoulder, smiling down at her when she leaned into him, resting her head against his bicep. "I won't," he said confidently.

"And Dean," she added with an embarrassed chuckle that came out as more of a sob. "God Sammy, I couldn't take it if Dean got hurt."

"I won't let him," Sam assured her. "I just got him back too."

"Chrissy … I mean Ruby … wasn't exactly his biggest fan," she pointed out. "What if she tells Lilith where he is or goes after him herself?"

"She won't," Sam promised. "I'd stick her own knife in her heart before I'd let her hurt my brother."

"So would I." She was quiet for a few seconds and a wave of relief washed over Sam that he'd managed to dodge another bullet.

"I still love him," she added softly.

"I know."

**/\\\/\\\/\\\**

Dean was left slightly bewildered and wondering what the fuck was going on when Tasha flew out the door with Sam hot on her heels. He would have expected Tasha to disapprove of allying themselves with Ruby, after all she was a hunter, but she had been more than just worried for Sam. Something else was going on here. He had instinctively moved to follow her, assuming it was his place to go after her and make sure she was okay, but Sam had practically shoved him aside in his haste to chase her out the door.

Agitated, Dean's earlier feelings of jealousy resurfaced and within seconds he found himself stepping over to the window. He subtly pulled the curtain to the side just enough to peer out, telling himself it was just to put his mind at ease.

Sam was coming up behind her to reach for her shoulder. She spun around but his giant hulk of a brother was blocking the view of her face. He couldn't hear any words but when they turned sideways, he could see her hands were resting on Sam's chest.

" _What the fuck_?" he breathed, his heart beginning to thump loudly in his chest. As he watched them he couldn't help noticing there was more between them than there had been during the first couple of months Tasha had traveled with them. Tasha was friendly but had a natural distance she kept between herself and everybody else. Dean had noticed it in the first days he had known her and it had warmed his heart more than he could ever have imagined to see that buffer didn't seem to exist with him. It had lessened slightly over time with his brother but it had always still been there. He didn't see any evidence of that now. He didn't know if it was just a deeper friendship between them or something more but his fists clenched at his sides as he watched the two of them together. When she leaned into his brother and rested her head on his muscled arm, Dean tore himself away from the window.

He was jealous. There was no denying it, he was jealous of Sam. Dean had never been jealous of his little brother before. He'd never begrudged him anything and it had always lifted his heart a little to see joy on Sam's face when the kid got something he wanted. In fact, Dean had given everything he could to Sam their whole lives, often going without himself, and had never once regretted it. But he couldn't give him Tasha. The way he felt about her - whether he deserved her or not - he just couldn't willingly give her up. Not even to Sam. Even the thought of losing her was twisting his insides up in pain and fear.

For Dean, those emotions were usually displayed as anger. He sat down on the end of his bed, jaw clenched as he tried to work himself past the urge to punch the walls. Right now, what he really wanted to punch was Sam, but Dean Winchester wasn't going to be seen losing control and acting like a jealous putz. Dean Winchester was always in control. Time to put his game face back on.

**/\\\/\\\/\\\**

They stood leaning on the back of the Fiero for a few minutes in silence. Sam finally turned and looked down at the brunette. "We good?" he asked warily.

She frowned up at him. "We're alright," she said slowly. "Dean doesn't need us fighting but I gotta tell ya Sam, I'm not exactly thrilled with you right now."

"I get it," he conceded, not feeling it necessary to point out that Dean didn't really need to be told that their little tryst was actually a threesome. She wasn't going to divulge that information anytime soon.

He pushed himself up from the tiny car's trunk. He had managed to finally get a hold of Ruby earlier when he had made an excuse to go out to the car and she had told him she would meet him behind the motel office in ten minutes. That was about right now so he needed to get over there pronto because the demon wasn't known for her patience and wouldn't likely wait very long.

"Well it looks like we may be here another day. I'll go get a second room for you," he offered, trying out a smile. "It'll be just like old times."

"Yeah," she rolled her eyes, "just like old times." Sam thought she may have been going for sarcasm but her words sounded more wistful than anything else.

"Meet you back inside?" he urged, needing to head off alone.

"Yeah, alright," she agreed with a nod and started back towards the room.

**/\\\/\\\/\\\**

Dean was still sitting on the bed when the door opened and Tasha stepped back inside.

"Hey," she greeted him, stepping in and sinking into one of the plastic chairs at the table. "Sorry about that. Don't like demons."

Dean made a conscious effort to act relaxed and casual. "So you met Ruby, huh?" he managed.

"Yeah," Tasha shook her head and cast her eyes downward. "He told me she was a hunter."

Dean snorted. "Sammy's getting good at lying," he said snidely, not realizing she would misinterpret the remark.

The brunette sighed, her shoulders sagging. "About that," she said. "About what happened between him and me; I know it's messed up and…"

Dean was in no mood to have this conversation. Not when his stomach was still churning at the mental image of them sweaty and naked together and not when he had just watched them having some intimate conversation right outside, not even bothering to be subtle about it.

"I get it," he interrupted her sharply. "I was dead."

Her mouth clamped shut and she stared at him for a long moment. "That's right," she said finally. "You were."

"I'm fine with it," he shrugged, knowing he wasn't being anywhere near convincing but not really caring. "I don't own you. Hey, **_I_**   broke up with **_you_** , remember?"

The look of hurt displayed on Tasha's face made Dean instantly regret lashing out but he couldn't bring himself to retract the comment.

"What happened with Sam and I…" she said finally, her voice thick with an emotion that seemed to match her wounded look, "…it didn't happen _despite_ you, it happened _because_ of you." She rose to her feet and grabbed her jacket, pulling it on.

"And for the record," she added as she tucked her Glock in her waistband, "it was Sam who figured that out and decided it shouldn't happen again." She started towards the door but turned to face him as she reached for the handle. "You shouldn't give him such a hard time over it. He was hurting as badly as you were when you made the deal in the first place and look what you did."

Dean was torn. Part of him didn't want her to leave and wished he could tell her how he really felt and suggest they put the issue behind him but another part of him was getting angrier and angrier as he listened to her defend his brother.

"Where are you going?" was all he could manage, his tone still clipped.

"To the biker bar to find out who the spirit is before someone else gets killed," she answered brusquely.

That took Dean by surprise and he didn't like the thought of it at all. "We've been through this," he said sternly. "You're not going there alone."

He knew as soon as the words had come out that giving her an order was unwise. He stood up but his feet refused to move towards her.

"You don't own me, remember?" she snapped defiantly, throwing Dean's hurtful words back in his face. "I've been doing this kind of thing on my own for years before I met you and I'm still here. Just leave me…" she cut herself off, taking a deep breath and yanking the door open. "Look, I'll be back in an hour. I'll be fine."

She closed the door behind her with a small click and Dean swung a fist at the motel lamp in frustration, cursing when it smashed into pieces on the floor. He listened to the sound of her car starting up and the tires spinning out of the gravel parking lot.

An hour. She'd be back in an hour. She could handle those guys at the bar. That gave him an hour to get his head straight and figure out what to do about this fucked up mess.

But she wasn't back in an hour.

**/\\\/\\\/\\\\-/\\\/\\\/\\\\-/\\\/\\\/\\\\-/\\\/\\\/\\\\-/\\\/\\\/\\\**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enough relationship drama huh? The real story starts now :)


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks CrazyLadyinVegas :) I had never watched Sons of Anarchy before I wrote this but apparently they have a club called the Grim Bastards too. (I have since discovered the show and LOVE it!). I had a lot of fun writing my gang though, especially Roar.

**/\\\/\\\/\\\\-/\\\/\\\/\\\\-/\\\/\\\/\\\\-/\\\/\\\/\\\\-/\\\/\\\/\\\**

"Shit, she's not answering the phone," Dean announced, snapping his own shut and standing up quickly. "It's been over an hour," he frowned, his agitation clear.

"Let's go get her," Sam agreed to the unspoken suggestion, rising to his feet also.

"I never shoulda let her go by herself."

Sam snorted. "Like you had a choice."

Dean tucked his nine millimeter in his pants next to Ruby's knife. "I could have stopped her," he admitted guiltily. He knew if he had _asked_   her, she would have agreed to anything. But he had been angry and cold and had tried to order her not to go. That approach had never worked with her. "Damnit, I knew it was a bad idea."

"She can handle herself," Sam assured him, though he too was checking his clip was full as he headed after his brother towards the door. "If I know Tasha, she's probably hustling them in a game of knives."

Dean didn't turn around as he strode over to the Impala. "Yeah, and apparently you know Tasha pretty well," he spat, unable to keep the spite out of his voice.

Sam ignored the jab, knowing his brother's worry was fueling the malice and feeling guilty over the accuracy of the statement. He sank into the Impala's passenger seat, barely getting the door closed by the time the car was jolting him forward as Dean reversed and raced out onto the road.

The brothers were quiet for a few minutes, both worried and both feeling too awkward to admit just how worried.

"Maybe she left." Dean finally broke the silence. "I mean, things are kinda…"

"She didn't leave," Sam said confidently.

"We threw a lot at her today," Dean argued. He knew deep down she hadn't left but the thought of her taking off to get away from his pissy attitude was better than the alternative. He could think of several reasons why she wouldn't be answering her phone after going to see a bar full of biker gang members and none of them were pretty. "The whole Apocalypse thing is a lot for anyone to take in."

_Not to mention the fact that I practically pushed her away._

"She didn't leave," Sam repeated. "Trust me, she wouldn't leave." He gave his brother a hard stare to get his point across. "She wouldn't leave _you_."

Dean swallowed at the implication of Sam's words, warm, fuzzy feelings of affection and hope sharing his insides with a renewed sense of dread at what they might find at Grimes bar.

The sense of dread was compounded when they pulled up outside the remote bar just as dusk rolled into twilight and saw Tasha's cheap, red sportscar still parked out front alongside a row of gleaming low-riders.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean cursed, his fear severely spiking. If she was still here, why wasn't she answering her phone? He exited the car quickly and strode up the front porch steps, Sam just two angry paces behind him.

Their reception wasn't any warmer than it had been earlier in the day, a sudden hush blanketing the room and several sets of unwelcoming eyes turning their way.

"I'm looking for the girl that was driving that little Fiero parked outside," Dean announced, trying his hardest to sound civil.

The same big guy that approached them last time sauntered up to them again. "Well if it ain't the Bon Jovi girls," he sneered.

"It was Led Zeppelin…" Dean started but Sam cut him off.

"Look, we're not Feds," he placated. "You know that. We're just looking for Tasha."

"She ain't here," a second biker interjected, coming up to stand next to the big guy.

"Her car's out front," Dean retorted through clenched teeth.

"You ain't listening," the big guy said slowly. "She ain't here."

"She _was_ here though, right?" Sam asked, managing to keep his cool enough for both brothers.

"Lil' thing goes by the name Natasha?" the second guy sneered, gesturing the universal sign for a woman's hips in the air in front of him. "Oh yeah, mmm, she stopped by."

"Where is she you son of a bitch?" Dean hissed, taking a threatening step towards the guy, his fists balled and ready.

"I told you," the big guy repeated, surprisingly non-belligerent. "She ain't here. She left."

"Why don't you do the same, huh?" the second guy jeered.

"She's still here," Dean insisted, wondering if he should be getting ready to pull his piece but holding off since he didn't like the odds that most of these guys weren't also packing. "Tash!" he called loudly into the room, glancing towards the door to the back behind the bar. The only response was a chorus of laughter from the six men.

"Well, she _was_   in the back with Roar for a long time," the second guy snickered, making a lewd gesture with his tongue inside his cheek. "Maybe she came back for seconds."

His laughter was cut off when Dean's fist smacked into the side of his face, sending him sprawling on the wooden floor. The big guy howled in surprise and anger and swung at Dean only to be intercepted by the just-as-big Sam. Within seconds, beers were being slammed down and stools were being knocked over as the other four men dove into the fray.

It all happened so fast that neither Winchester had any time to really think. They were no strangers to a fight and could usually take one or two decent fighters on but they were outnumbered six to two. Dean got a few good punches in and a kick to the mouthy guy he had hit first but was soon knocked to the ground. He felt a boot land solidly in his gut and, despite the pain and loss of breath, managed to wrap himself around the leg, a move that effectively prevented the detrimental second kick. Before the kicker figured out he could still land his knee to the side of the hunter's head, Dean swung his fist upwards into the man's thigh, giving him the mother of all Charlie-horses. The maneuver almost worked and he rolled away from the guy to his knees but never made it to his feet before another man landed a punch his side that laid him flat on the floor again.

Sam, meanwhile, was using his size to his advantage and had managed to stay on his feet, though he still wasn't faring much better than his brother. He was backed against the pool table but kept swinging, even ramming a fisted pool ball into the side of the big guy's head. He could see Dean was down and his heart almost stopped when his brother's shirt pulled up enough to uncover the nine millimeter in his waistband. Sam saw a rough hand snatch it but was unable to draw his Glock as two men had him leaned back over the table and weren't letting up. He pleaded to anyone or anything that might be listening up above that they were just disarming his brother and wouldn't choose to use the weapon on Dean.

As if mocking his last thought, a single, shattering shot rang out just as a hard fist landed on Sam's jaw, knocking his head sideways and causing blood to spew out of his mouth onto the green felt of the pool table. A stab of fear seared through his heart and he was pretty sure he made a whimpering sound as his blinking eyes quickly sought Dean back out, images of finding him bloody and dying once again flashing though his mind.

But Dean hadn't been shot. In fact, he hadn't done the shooting either. All the men in the bar froze, including the Winchesters, and turned to see a guy of about forty standing at the end of the bar with a shotgun aimed at the ceiling, specks of plaster still raining down on the counter. He was stocky, bearded, and heavily tattooed, even for a biker.

"Just what the fuck is going on here?" the man snarled, his tone unmistakably authoritative.

The men that had been taking turns hitting Dean backed off a step, allowing the hunter to roll stiffly to his knees. Sam shoved roughly at the two guys in front of him, though they were backing off anyway, and straightened himself up to his full height.

"Don't you think we got enough problems right now without killing two civs in my bar?" the newcomer demanded hotly, clearly aiming the question at the six bikers and not the hunters. This must be Rory 'Roar' Grimes, the business partner of victim number three and President of the gang.

Sam used the distraction to move forward and hold an arm out for Dean, wiping his bloody chin with the sleeve of his other. Dean accepted the help to his feet and Sam could see the agony in his brother's movements.

"These guys came in swinging, Roar," the big guy defended, pointing at Dean. "And he was packing." One of the men held up Dean's gun to show their leader.

Roar swung the shotgun towards the brothers. "You got the nerve to come packing into my place of business?" he demanded. "You suicidal or just stupid?"

"We're here for the girl," Dean spat back, trying to look as unhurt as he could manage though every part of him was screaming in pain from the beating he had just taken.

Roar narrowed his eyes. "Natasha?" he asked. "You're the fake feds that came by earlier?"

Sam nodded quickly. "Yeah, look, we just came by to help. Seems you got a problem and we uh … we deal with that type of problem."

"Where's Tash?" Dean cut in, not interested in discussing the case right now. He didn't have the patience for Sam's diplomacy, not when Tasha could be in trouble, possibly even in the back room of the small building, twenty feet from where they now stood.

Roar lowered his shotgun. "She left," he said with a shrug.

"Bullshit!" Dean challenged. "Her car's still outside and she's not answering her phone."

The big guy stepped forward. "You callin' Chief a liar?" he fumed.

"If the shoe fits…"

Roar cut off Dean's reply, raising a hand in the air. Sam noticed the gang leader did actually look genuinely surprised at the news Tasha was missing. He also noted that Roar's authority was absolute, for not one man made a single move against the Winchesters. _Lucky for Dean_ , he thought, wishing not for the first time that his brother could keep his cool when his emotions were running high.

"Look," Roar said calmly, "Your little filly was here. She and I came to an arrangement and then she left. I watched her walk right out that front door, the perfect picture of health."

"Yeah," the man who had made the lewd comment earlier chimed in, "The _perfect_   picture." Again with the hand gestures.

Dean fought for control, knowing the guy was just trying to get under his skin and knowing it wouldn't do Tasha any good if he got killed before he could figure out what these guys had done to her. "You want me to break your nose to match that fat lip?" he seethed with barely restrained anger.

"Okay," Sam butted in, stepping between Dean and the goading man and addressing Roar directly, "Then one of your men followed her out coz her car's still parked out there." He pointed towards the side of the parking lot where the Fiero sat.

"I said, I didn't touch your girlfriend," Roar repeated slowly, his patience clearly nearing its limit. "Neither did any of my men. I gave an order she be left alone and my orders are followed." He jerked his chin towards the front door, indicating for the Winchesters to exit. "Let's take a look outside," he offered.

Sam and Dean didn't argue, neither sure what to think at this point. They stepped outside into the darkening evening and scanned the parking lot, intensely aware of the seven men following them out.

"Tash!" Dean hollered off the porch into the air. A few seconds of deathly silence followed as all of the men listened for a reply.

Years of hunting together had made the brothers perfectly in tune to each other's thinking and neither spoke as they both stepped quickly down into the gravel parking lot and began to look around. Sam walked around the side of the building while Dean made his way immediately for Tasha's car parked on the far side of the Impala. The bikers all stood on the porch watching in what seemed like curious amusement.

Sam found nothing but Dean soon called him over, his urgent cry hinting of bad news. The younger Winchester jogged over to where Dean was holding up a single Pontiac key with two silver bands threaded onto the keychain. Sam's breath caught when he recognized it. Those were Tasha's parents' wedding bands. She would never simply drop those.

"And blood," Dean announced, his eyes wide with fear as they bore into Sam's. He was shining his flashlight on the top rim of the Fiero's door.

Sam took a closer look himself and saw what Dean was pointing at. There was a smallish smear of fresh blood on the thin silver strip just above the driver's door. Both brothers spun to face the bikers on the porch but found them already making their way over towards them.

"You wanna revamp your story?" Dean said accusingly to the advancing men. "There's blood on her car that wasn't there before." Sam had to wonder if Dean was even aware of how ridiculous threatening and antagonizing these men was at this point. Between the seven of them, they had a shotgun, Dean's gun, and probably countless more weapons. The outnumbered Winchesters only had Sam's Glock and a few knives.

Roar let out a long sigh that almost sounded like a growl. "This is the last time I'm gonna tell you this," he said slowly. "I didn't touch your girlfriend. Neither did any of my men. She was here – I ain't denying that – but she left over half an hour ago. It seems we have a problem that she knows something about. She offered to help. Now why would I harm someone who was gonna do me a solid?"

"You know who the spirit is, don't you?" Sam blurted. He needed to get these guys on their side. Dean's fear and worry were clouding his judgment, fueling his angered responses, and not getting them any closer to finding Tasha.

Roar gave them a long look and nodded. "Yep. Shane Kewitt, goes by the name Dirt. Or _went_   by the name Dirt. Rode a custom American Ironhorse Legend. That bike was one of a kind. I'd recognize it anywhere."

"Have others seen it?" Sam had his hand splayed gently in front of Dean, his gesture to shut up and follow his lead. Thankfully Dean seemed to be taking heed for he remained silent.

Roar nodded again. "Yup. Your broad said you three could take care of Ol Dirt, put him to rest." The sentence was phrased almost as a question.

"You've seen it, haven't you?" Sam pressed.

A third "Yup" from Roar.

 _Awesome_ , thought Sam. _Now they had something to bargain with_. The leader was on the chopping block, on the spirit's hit list.

Dean had obviously calmed down enough for rational thought to take hold for he seemed to figure out where Sam was leading this. "Look," the elder Winchester said with as much calm as he could muster, "We can take care of your problem but first, I need to know where Tasha is."

Roar had his arms folded in front of his barrel chest, tattooed biceps bulging. "I swear she walked out half an hour ago. None of my men touched her or followed her outside."

"Someone snatches a girl right outside your bar and you don't notice?" Dean couldn't hide his skepticism.

Roar arched an eyebrow and breathed in a sharp intake of breath, clearly having just thought of something. He turned to point at a security camera mounted above the porch. "Points right at your broad's car," he announced. "We sometimes need to know who's coming our way," he added by way of explanation.

Dean's heart sped up at the stroke of luck. "Let's see the footage," he demanded stepping forward towards the bar.

"Hold up there, Romeo," Roar stopped him. "I need some assurance you're gonna deal with Dirt before I give up my only leverage."

Dean glared at the guy. Apparently the Winchesters weren't the only distrustful ones. "I'll take care of your murderin' spirit biker," he said with a hard edge to his voice. "But not coz I wanna help your ass or your band of merry men here," he waved at the men behind the gang leader. "But because it's what I do. I kill supernatural sonsabitches. No exceptions. But I can tell you this," he jabbed a finger in the air at the group of men. "I don't do anything until I get the girl back, safe and sound. That's my price." He held Roar's stare for a moment, neither backing down before Dean finally continued. "So if you want to get your vengeful buddy off your tail, I suggest you help me find her."

Roar's face broke out into a grin. "You know what?" he laughed finally, easing all the tension out of the air. "If you didn't look like a bitch and drive a pussy's car, me and you might actually get along."

Dean realized the insults were Roar's way of saving face while agreeing to his terms so he gave the leader a smile in return and let them slide. "Hey, don't hate me coz I'm beautiful," he smirked, getting a few laughs from the men as they turned to go inside. Sam gave Dean a look of relief, clearly amazed that Dean had swallowed an insult to his baby even for Tasha's sake. The brothers followed the group in.

They were patted down and relieved of the remainder of their weapons, apparently the house rules before being allowed into the back room, which was Roar's office and living room and possibly even bedroom all in one. Just the big guy and Roar accompanied them, the remainder of the men going back to their beers. Roar didn't waste any time in turning the small TV to face the room and fiddled with the VCR behind the desk to rewind the forty minutes or so to when he claimed Tasha had left the bar.

The video was grainy but it was still pretty light out so they got a good view of the parking lot. The Fiero was already there and Roar fast-forwarded slowly until Tasha appeared in the screen. Dean swallowed as he watched her head towards her car in, as Roar had put it, the perfect picture of health. She dug in her jacket pocket for her keys and was just unlocking the door when she seemed to slam forward, her front pressing up against the glass before she stumbled backwards, staggering to stay on her feet. There was nobody else in view and nobody had touched her.

"What the fuck…" Dean breathed, his eyes glued to the screen.

Her car key fell to the ground and she spun around quickly to face her unseen attacker. She had her knife in her hand already though she had drawn it too quickly for any of the men to actually see the motion. Her eyes seemed to focus on someone not in view of the camera and an unmistakable look of fear crossed her face. She recovered quickly and lunged forward almost immediately, knife slashing.

For four agonizingly slow seconds, she was out of the camera's range. When she moved back into view, another figure came with her. They could see the back of a man and he and Tasha were fighting. She was fast on her feet and dodged a hard fist before deftly sinking her knife into her attacker's shoulder. The big guy in the room actually cheered out loud.

Dean couldn't spare a thought to appreciate the biker's support because the man in the video simply yanked the blade out and squared off against Tasha again. She was standing about six feet away from her car and she quickly reached around to pull her Glock out of her jeans but before she could raise it enough to fire, she went flying backwards and slammed into the Fiero's driver's door. Although there was no sound to the nightmarish video, Dean swore he heard the sickening crack when the back of her head struck the door frame. Yet the man hadn't touched her. In fact, he still stood about ten feet away, one hand simply outstretched towards her. She was slumping against the door now, struggling to stay on her feet, the knock to the head making her fight for control of her senses and motor functions.

"A demon!" Dean hissed, realizing this could be a whole lot worse than the horrors he was imagining if Tasha had actually been a victim of Roar and his gang.

"A what?" Roar demanded, but Dean ignored him, unable to tear his eyes away from the screen.

The man stepped forward towards the stunned Tasha, prying the Glock out of her hands  
and tucking it in his own pants before reaching forward and twisting a hand roughly up in her hair. He jerked her forward, leaning down and speaking some words into her ear before turning and yanking her away from the car. Dean could literally feel his heart twisting in pain as he watched the man drag her forcefully away, holding her up by the hair as her feet hadn't regained the strength to support herself yet. He stood staring at the screen for a long moment after they were both out of the camera's view.

"It was a demon," he croaked finally, his eyes searching out Sam's, _needing_ to find Sam's. "Fucking Lilith."

Sam was shaking his head. "Rewind," he demanded, a command Roar wordlessly obeyed.

"It had to be," Dean continued. "See the way he flung her with the mojo?"

Sam was staring intently at the screen, re-watching the last moment when the man turned and dragged Tasha away. His face was sideways on to the camera at this point and Sam paused the tape before closing his eyes with recognition.

"It's not a demon," he told his brother, his voice heavy with dread and fear. "It's Diego."

Dean's eyes shot open and Sam could literally feel the jolt of shock stab through his brother. "No," the elder Winchester blurted, shaking his head. "He had the mojo. Demon mojo."

Sam swallowed. "I recognize him from Tasha's dream back in May," he explained reluctantly. "With the dreamroot remember?" He pointed to the paused screen and the handsome Spanish man displayed there. "That's him. That's definitely him. Did you see the look on her face when she turned and saw him? She definitely recognized him. He's found her. He's got her."

Dean hadn't heard anything past 'Diego'. He stared blankly at the screen, unaware his heart had missed two full beats.

Sam spun to face Roar and the big guy. Now it was his turn to be mad. "How does this happen right outside your bar and nobody sees anything?" he demanded, his voice rising in both pitch and volume.

Roar and the big guy didn't seem bothered by Sam's show of temper directed at them. In fact, both of them were frowning and obviously pissed, but their anger was aimed at Diego.

"Who is this asshole?" Roar asked, jabbing his finger at the screen. "He's got some fucking nerve taking a broad from my property. Hell, she could have been my broad for all he knew. Nobody does the Bastardos like that."

"Yeah, nobody crosses us," the big guy echoed. "You just tell us where he is and we'll get your filly back," he offered, giving Dean an encouraging pat on the back and actually sounding genuine.

That's when the reality hit Sam. "We don't know where he is," he admitted, stealing a glance at his brother who still remained silent. "We have no idea where he would go or what he's driving or even if he's alone." His own heart sank with each admission and his hope with it.

"What does he want with the girl?" Roar asked.

Sam gave Dean an apologetic look before answering. "He wants her dead," he said.

"Why?" the big guy pressed.

"Revenge," Sam explained, not sure why he was bothering filling them in. There wasn't much they could do now. "He's killed everyone in her family. She's the last one and he plans on finishing the job."

"And you got no clue where he'd go or how to find him?" Roar pushed.

Sam shook his head.

"Then she's as good as dead," the big guy said somberly.

Sam found his throat constricting at the sound of the biker's words. His heart was beating with incredibly slow, thunderous, painful beats, and his chest was tied in a painful knot. He realized he was fighting back tears and he looked once more at Dean.

The elder Winchester was pale and his face was drawn, jaw clenched in restrained emotion. He was clearly suffering but was surprisingly holding it together. Sam wasn't sure if he was going to be able to do the same. They had nothing. No leads, no clue where to look, and Diego had a forty minute head start. Hell, Tasha was probably already dead.

That last thought hit him hard and his breath hitched as he caught his brother's eye. "Dean, I'm sorry," he whispered. "I … I don't know what we can do. We lost her. I don't know what to do."

Dean looked up at him, green eyes steady. "We find her."

"How?" Sam shrugged his shoulders, pitying his brother's denial. "Where? She's probably already…"

"Don't say it!" Dean snapped. "Don't even think it."

"Dean, I hope not too, I just…"

Dean cut him off again. "We got two days."

"What?"

"Her mother and her aunt," Dean explained, refusing to believe for even a second that Tasha was gone. "Diego took two days with both of them, remember?"

A bolt of renewed hope shot through Sam. He remembered now that when Tasha's aunt had been killed, the body was covered in vampire bites and various other wounds that were indicative of a long, slow, painful death. "That's right," he breathed. "He made the aunt suffer first…" His heart lurched again with the realization of what that meant for Tasha, his relief suddenly short-lived.

"Same with her Mom," Dean pointed out. "Tasha and her father were out of town for a few days when it happened and the bastard dragged it out." He turned to face Roar. "We've got two days," he said simply.

Roar nodded. "We're in. We'll help in any way we can to find her and you take care of Dirt for us. I think it's a fair deal."

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	25. Chapter 25

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"Okay, we have no idea where Diego's taken her but I'm willing to bet he'll stay in town," Dean thought out loud.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, he's been waiting a long time for this," he said. "He'll just find somewhere close and private so he can get started right away." He winced at his unintentional bluntness.

Dean seemed unfazed by the callous comment, clearly throwing himself into 'investigative mode' in an effort to keep himself from losing it, to keep him from obsessing over what could be happening to Tasha and how guilty he felt for not protecting her. Dean didn't have to say out loud that he blamed himself; Sam knew his brother as well as he knew himself and that fact went without saying. Dean was fiercely protective of those he loved and John Winchester had drilled into his eldest from childhood that his job, his duty, even his _purpose_   was to look after his family. Sam had been the object of that obsessive protective streak his entire life and wasn't blind to the fact that Tasha had since joined him.

"So if he's still in town," Dean continued, "we're gonna have to find him by his wheels. He didn't carry Tash out of here on foot so he's driving something." He turned to face Roar and the big guy. "This is a quiet road," he stated. "Can't have been that many cars this way in the past hour. You got any neighbors who might have seen something?"

The big guy shook his head. "The road's a dead end just half a mile up," he answered. "There's only two other places on it 'sides the bar. Grey's Towin' up at the end and the Baker place you passed on yer way in. Ain't never no one at the Baker place but the old man and he's blind as a bat."

A grin was slowly spreading across Roar's face.

"You know somethin' we don't?" Dean demanded.

"Plenty," Roar grinned. "Including a way to find your man Diego's car."

In their second stroke of luck in an otherwise demoralizing evening, it seemed the local police had recently established a special task force to investigate the biker gangs in town suspected of criminal activity. Although the 'task force' only consisted of two junior detectives, this creative duo had managed to convince the Department of Transportation to install a traffic cam at the end of the quiet road in an effort to keep track of who came and went to Grimes Bar. Roar ushered the hunters and the big guy out of his office so he could make some calls in private and see if he could get a lead on Diego's vehicle from the footage. In a tone that left even less room for argument than John Winchester's, he suggested that the brothers use the time to get the particulars about the gang's ghost rider problem.

Sam and Dean agreed but as the big guy led them back into the bar and started filling them in, Dean barely heard a word he was saying. His mind was spinning with worry and dread for Tasha and he just couldn't bring himself to care right now about the biker gang's rising death toll. He couldn't forget the last conversation he had with Tasha.

_"I don't own you. Hey, **I** broke up with **you** , remember?"_

Godamnit, please don't let those be the last words he got to say to her.

Sam, on the other hand, found shifting his focus to the hunt a welcome relief. He didn't want to think about Tasha in Diego's hands or the slim chance they had of finding her or the look he was going to see on his brother's face when Dean realized she was gone for good.

Shane Kewitt, better known as Dirt, was apparently one nasty son of a bitch, even by these guys' standards, and used to ride with the Bastardos until his demise just over three years ago.

"I'm guessing the victims so far all had something to do with that?" Sam questioned.

The big guy narrowed his eyes at the tall hunter. "We're all law abiding citizens, Agent Plant," he drawled.

Sam just rolled his eyes, not one to be intimidated. "Whatever. Where's Dirt's body?"

"Fishfood 'bout five miles off the coast," was the unapologetic shrugged response.

Sam groaned. "And his bike?"

"Same place." It was one of the others who chimed in. By now they were hovering around the hunters, all clearly aware of the gang's ghost problem, and the animosity towards their possible saviors was quickly waning.

"How did that happen?" Sam looked skeptical.

"Boating accident," the big guy shrugged, getting a chuckle from the rest of the men.

Sam sighed. "Well, that could be a problem."

"Why?" two of them asked in unison.

"An angry spirit has to be tied to something to stay in this world. Usually it's their remains but it could be some object that the person had a strong connection with. Since Dirt's using his bike as a weapon, it would stand to reason that's his tie to this side."

The smaller guy who had been the first to receive Dean's fist in his face snorted. "Dirt didn't connect with nothin'.  He was about as friendly as a bear with burrs in its ass."

Sam continued explaining. "Usually we salt and burn the object or the remains to destroy the spirit but that's obviously not gonna happen in this case."

"So you can't get rid of Dirt?" the big guy asked warily.

"Nah, of course we can get rid of him," Sam assured them hastily, realizing they needed the bikers right now to help Tasha. "It's just gonna take a little more creative thinking." He decided not to explain that they needed to lure the ghost rider to hallowed ground to destroy it since it wasn't unlikely the bikers would then decide to take care of their ghost problem themselves and wouldn't feel the need to help the Winchesters anymore. Their knowledge on the supernatural was their only leverage.

"Your girl said she knew of a way but she wouldn't spill," the big guy divulged.

"Of course not," Sam scoffed. "It was her only assurance you guys would let her walk out of here free and clear."

Dean snorted at the irony of Sam's choice of words and looked around at the gang members. "So which of you have seen him?" he asked bluntly, trying to tear his mind from the dark thoughts he was being bombarded with regarding Tasha's predicament.

The men tensed a little at his question, glancing nervously at each other with pointed looks that would have answered the question for the observant hunters without the need to say it out loud.

"Roar," one man volunteered, "and Shank and Two-Bit and Paul." He pointed in turn to the lewd guy, then to a second man in the rear and then to the big guy.

Dean raised an eyebrow at the big guy. "Paul?" he said, managing a lopsided grin. "You're name is Paul? Not Lugnut or Wrench or Pickaxe?"

Paul grinned back at Dean, his huge arms folded across his chest. "You sure got a big mouth for a runt," he warned with no real malice.

Dean decided he liked Paul. The rest of the gang he didn't trust and could do without, but the big guy seemed okay and Dean got the feeling he and Roar at least were sincere about helping Tasha. That made them alright in his book.

"That means we're next, right?" the man at the back called Two-Bit queried.

Sam nodded. "Would seem that way. The victims all saw Dirt's bike days before it got them."

Just then, Roar marched out of the office and both brothers' hearts lifted to see the triumphant look on his face.

"You got something?" Dean pounced.

"Yup. I got someone to check the footage of the traffic cam."

"A cop?" Sam let slip before he could catch it.

Roar gave him a hard look. "Don't be nosey boy," he said simply. "You know what curiosity did to the cat, right?"

"Yeah, sorry," Sam said quickly. "Go on. What did you find?"

"We got six vehicles turning into this road in the past hour. Wallace here's bike," he pointed to one of his men. "One of Grey's tow trucks, the girl's red piece of shit, a blue Cavalier that turned around and went back out less than a minute later, your Impala, and a brown Crown Vic."

"So a brown Crown Vic," Dean surmised, hope surging within him. "Diego's driving a brown Crown Vic."

"Gets better than that," Roar grinned. "Brown Crown Vic with a noticeable dent in the passenger rear side panel. My guy couldn't get a clear enough shot to run the plates but I'd say we got enough to go by." He turned to Dean. "If he's still in the city, we'll find him inside of two days," he said confidently.

Dean couldn't help heave out a sigh of relief as he nodded his appreciation.

Roar turned to Paul next. "Get all the men in here," he barked, shifting instantly into drill-sergeant mode as he started barking orders. "Mace, get me the city street map from behind the bar. Wallace, take a picture of the dude paused on the screen in my office and send it out to everybody so they know who they're looking for. That's this Diego prick. Bunter, you're gonna have to bury the hatchet with Deke and his buddies – that'll get us six more riders out on the streets." His sharp frown cut off Bunter's protest to the command before the biker made a sound.

He took the map Mace handed him, spread it out over the table, and quickly began to draw grids on it, splitting the city up into quadrants for his men to search. Sam and Dean were impressed with his efficiency and control of the situation and couldn't help seeing the parallels between the way Roar ran the Bastardos and the way John Winchester ran his family. This was no democracy.

"How many riders you got?" Dean asked.

"Twenty three plus six from Deke's club minus us four that have seen Dirt so that's twenty-five out on the streets," Roar answered. He gave the hunter a slightly sheepish look. "I'd join in myself but with Dirt after my ass…"

Dean gave him a dismissive shrug. Without these guys, it would be just him and Sam in the Impala, combing a city of a half million people. Twenty-five more people out searching for Diego increased Tasha's chances dramatically and he was sincerely grateful for the help.

"Your guys shouldn't approach Diego if they find him," Sam pointed out.

"Yeah." Dean agreed quickly. "He's…" he hesitated, "he's not human." The hunter didn't want to have to explain that vampires were real. These guys believed this vengeful spirit thing because they had seen it, but the Winchesters were likely going to lose credibility if they tried to explain that Edward fucking Cullen had kidnapped his woman. "You need to let us handle him." He also didn't want some clueless bikers charging in with guns blazing and getting themselves and very possibly Tasha killed.

"Is this guy a demon like you were saying earlier?" Roar gave them both a wary, skeptical look.

Sam shook his head. "No. He's something else entirely. Trust me, don't approach him. We just need you to find him for us."

Roar nodded. "All this ghost and monsters crap stays in this room," he announced to his men. "Tell everyone I got a personal beef with this Diego and they better not tip him off. Find him and call me; that's it."

Sam and Dean stayed a few more minutes, feeling more and more encouraged about their chances of finding Tasha as men started to arrive and Roar assigned each one an area to search. They were getting unfriendly looks from the newcomers but nobody said boo to them since they were clearly approved guests of Roar's. They finally exchanged numbers with the gang leader and left to start searching for the brown Ford Crown Victoria themselves. They decided to leave Tasha's car where it was for the time being.

As soon as Dean pulled out of the driveway, he hauled his phone out of his pocket and hit a speedial button. "I'm calling Bobby," he said. "These guys might be able to find her but this could be a wild goose chase. There's gotta be another way to track this son of a bitch down."

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Dean flipped his phone shut two minutes later. "Bit of luck," he announced. "He's in Oregon. Says he'll be here by morning."

Sam nodded. Bobby was the most knowledgeable hunter he knew, more so even than their dad. They had asked him to look into Diego back when they had first met Tasha and Bobby never refused a request from the Winchesters. After Dean had died and gone to Hell, Sam had cut his ties with the older mechanic, taking off to wallow in grief and self-hatred and then to work with Ruby seeking revenge on Lilith. He now felt guilty that he hadn't looked for Diego himself or at least pressed Bobby to keep looking. He had asked Ruby one night to see what she could dig up after he had parted ways with Tasha in Illinois but that had been the extent of his efforts. In fact, he hadn't even thought to ask Bobby if he had found out anything when he had seen him again last week.

Dean apparently had. "Bobby he filled me in last week on everything he dug up so far," he said in his professional voice.

Dean was working hard to focus on the evidence, follow the leads and process the little information they had, just like he would for any other hunt. Tasha needed him in hunter mode, needed him to be on the top of his game. He _was_   going to find her.

"He put feelers out to every hunter he knows a few months back," he continued. "He hasn't got much feedback but every hunter he talked to agreed to ask a few questions before beheading any vamps. Seems most vamps have heard of Diego but they all claimed they didn't know where he was and didn't know how to find him."

Sam nodded. This much Tasha had told them when they first met him. "He's apparently over two thousand years old so it makes sense they've heard of him," he pointed out.

"Yeah well they've more than heard of him. Some of them knew him first hand but they all refused to give him up; too scared."

"So they're more terrified of him than a hunter about to chop their heads off?"

Dean nodded. "Can you blame them? Look what he did to get back at Pappy Montoya."

Sam gave Dean a puzzled look. "Who?"

"Tash's great great times-six-or-something grandfather. The hunter in Spain who killed Diego's mate."

"Huh," Sam voiced his amusement at the revelation. "So her name's Montoya?"

Dean shook his head. "Her mother's would have been if she hadn't used fakes all the time but Tash thinks of herself as a Malick, her dad's name."

Sam was reminded suddenly of the bond his brother had formed with Tasha in the short months they had spent together, the rare openness they had apparently shared. His heart went out to Dean as he subtly watched the pained look on his face when speaking of the missing brunette. Sam's insides were knotted in worry and hurt and he knew these feelings must be tenfold for his brother. Dean really couldn't take a loss of this magnitude right now; the guy was barely hanging on as it was. His tour in Hell had broken him.

"She and her dad were really close," Dean was saying, his voice gone soft.

"Kinda like you and our dad?" Sam compared. It had always seemed to him that Dean and John Winchester had a far closer bond than Sam and their dad had. At least, they rarely argued and Dean had always worshiped the man, trying his hardest to prove himself to him in everything he did.

Dean gave him an almost disgusted look. "Nothing like me and Dad," he scoffed. "Howcome when I finally start to see Dad for what he really was you all of a sudden start singing his praises?"

Sam was surprised by the question and the vehemence in his brother's tone but decided this was not the time to get into the whole ' _John Winchester: good or bad_?' debate. "How did Diego find her?" he asked in an effort to avoid the subject. The question was mostly rhetorical, however, as he knew they didn't have an answer. "She just got back into the country last night and he must have known exactly where she would be to have shown up at the bar."

"Yeah, that's one Hell of a coincidence that he found her when she was alone, without us," Dean agreed. "And you know what I think of coincidences."

"And the mojo thing!" Sam added. "What was that? Vampires don't have mojo."

"He ain't a normal vampire," Dean spat. "We should have known. Plenty of hunters have gone after him over the years and he's still walking. We should have known there was more to him than just plain vamp."

"Can a demon possess a vampire?" Sam asked, still trying to figure out how Diego could have the flinging power they had seen on the video footage.

"You think Diego's possessed by a demon?" Dean's forehead creased in thought but he looked doubtful. "He would have to have been a demon for over a hundred and fifty years because a demon wouldn't follow through on its meatsuit's vendetta. It wouldn't care about Diego's revenge, just its own."

"Yeah, that's true," Sam shrugged. He made up his mind to ask Ruby as soon as he got a few moments away from Dean. He had seen her back at the motel and had told her to steer clear of them for a while because Tasha was back and had figured out that she was Chrissy. The demon had been pissy about getting the brush-off but had agreed.

They drove around all night, concentrating on the more rural areas with barns and empty summer homes as well as deserted warehouses and factories. Tasha had informed them that these seemed to be the most common places for vampires to hold up and their own limited vampire experience didn't contradict the information. They saw quite a few bikes driving the night streets, always in pairs, and guessed many of these must be Roar's men. Dean checked in with Roar every couple of hours via phone but nothing had turned up yet in the search.

Sam offered more than once to take over the driving and give Dean a break but the elder Winchester insisted he was fine. It was after noon the following day before Bobby finally called to say he was in town and would meet them at the motel. Dean was clearly getting frustrated and slammed the steering wheel with the palm of his hand as he turned the big car around.

"Damnit," he cursed. "We should have seen the Crown Vic by now! He could be halfway to Nevada with her for all we know!"

Sam didn't know what to say so he didn't say anything. They pulled up to the motel a few minutes later to see Bobby's old van parked outside instead of his usual multicolored Chevelle.

"You're late," Dean growled in welcome to the scruffy, bearded man.

The mechanic narrowed his eyes at the hunter in a scowl. "Took a detour," he fired back unapologetically. "Had to pick something up in Nevada."

"We're kinda on a tight schedule here, Bobby," Dean groused. Manners went out the window when Dean was scared. "There's an innocent girl at stake. That couldn't have waited?"

Bobby sighed and shook his head as he walked around to the rear doors of the van and yanked one side open. "No, as a matter of fact it couldn't," he said simply, jerking his head towards the van's interior.

Sam and Dean both stepped around so they could see what Bobby had in the back that was so important. They were shocked to see a man lying gagged on the floor wrapped in ropes and chains and staring wildly at them.

"One vampire who admits he knows who Diego is," Bobby grinned, narrowing his eyes again at Dean. "You're welcome," he added sarcastically.

"Where'd you get him?" Dean stammered, still piecing together what this meant.

"I got word Garth Neville was huntin' a nest of vamps outside of Vegas so I gave him a call last night," he told them. "Most of the suckers were already a head shorter when I got a hold of him but he still had this one alive … well undead anyway … so he handed him over for us to question."

"You mean torture," Sam clarified. It went without saying they were going to have to get physical to get any answers from the captured vampire. He couldn't help but notice Dean's visible flinch at the statement and his heart twisted in sudden pity. It made sense that Dean would be hesitant to torture anything, even a vampire, having spent four months being the victim of torture himself, whether he remembered it or not.

A tiny wave of disappointment also swept through the younger Winchester as he watched the color drain from his brother's face. There was a time when Dean would have been the first in line to start slicing this monster, especially to find Tasha, but this Dean, this new fresh-out-of-Hell Dean, was actually taking a shaky step backwards.

The ever-astute Bobby must have noticed Dean blanch at the prospect of torture also, for his brown eyes softened and he slammed the van door shut quickly. "We can't do it here," he told them. "It might get noisy. Dean, I'm gonna need some dead man's blood. Lots of it. Get down to the morgue and load up. Sam and I'll find somewhere a little more private and you can meet us there."

Dean's gaze met Bobby's but he barely heard what the older man was ordering him to do. His mind was flashing with images of cutting and slicing and stabbing, of blood spurting and his own voice laughing and sneering at the sniveling pleas and screams of mercy. He wasn't that _thing_   anymore. He was himself again, human again - barely but here he was. An angel had reached down into Hell and pulled him up, had believed there was something salvageable inside of him, some part worth saving. He couldn't become that monster again, not even for a few minutes.

And a few minutes was all it would take. He knew that because he knew he was good at inflicting pain and suffering. Correction, _had been_   good. He had been Alistair's pet, his fucking star pupil for a decade. He needed to do this. For Tasha, he would do this. But even though he knew it had to be done, every fiber in his being was screaming at him not to. What if he became that monster again? Hell, he would _have_ to become that monster again if he was to get what he needed from this vampire if it decided to be stubborn. Bobby was tough and Sam was certainly darker than he had been before Dean's death but neither of them had what it took to completely break someone. They didn't have the hatred and the pure evil he had discovered within himself after thirty years on the rack. The two men standing next to him, his only family, lacked the sinister creativity and the passion for suffering Dean had displayed.

"Okay," he managed finally, trying to keep his voice steady. "Dead man's blood. Right."

Bobby gave Sam a questioning look when Dean turned and headed towards the Impala. As the classic beauty purred her way out of the lot, he jerked his head for the taller man to get in the van.

"You up for this?" he asked as Sam climbed in the passenger side, studying the young hunter's face. "It ain't gonna be pretty and we gotta move quickly."

"Yeah, of course," Sam agreed honestly. He had no qualms about what they were going to do. Tasha needed them to do this. It was a vampire, a monster. It didn't even really count as torture. "I'm not so sure about Dean though."

"That's why we gotta move quickly," Bobby explained. "I ain't blind. I saw his face when you used the T-word."

"You don't need dead man's blood, do you?" Sam accused, scolding himself at not figuring out crafty Bobby's plan to ditch Dean.

"Got plenty in the back of the van," Bobby acknowledged. "But it ain't easy getting' into the morgue in the middle of the day so that should keep him busy for at least a couple of hours. We shouldn't need any longer than that."

"Are you kidding? Give me five minutes," Sam growled, not noticing the wary and vaguely disappointed look Bobby gave him at the cold words.

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	26. Chapter 26

 

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Bobby had known Sam since he was about three years old. The kid had been small for his age but made up for it with energy and managed to get whatever he wanted from the gruff mechanic by simply blinking those sad, puppy-dog eyes from under the shock of dark brown hair that he adamantly refused to let John cut. He had made himself right at home at Singer Auto Salvage the first time John Winchester had shown up on the doorstep, injured from a hunt and needing a place to crash with his two sons for a few days. Little Sammy had been the embodiment of curiosity, getting into every nook and cranny in both the house and the yard, followed like a shadow by the ever watchful Dean. The seven year old boy was much quieter and shyer than Sam but equally curious, though he learned more from observing than asking.

A thirty-something Bobby had been caught off-guard by his immediate and deep affection for the two boys and through the years, that had never lessened. He felt like he knew them better than they knew themselves and thought of them as nothing short of real sons.

Watching Sam yank the captured vampire up roughly and rework its chains around the old chair in the back of the van, however, was giving Bobby chills. Sam had always been the more outwardly sensitive one, his emotions a constant adornment on his sleeve. He had always questioned the blurry moral line hunters often found themselves straddling, never willing to come anywhere near it, let alone cross it. In fact, Sam's huge heart and gentle nature had made Bobby a little skeptical fifteen minutes ago, thinking the kid might be more hindrance than help during this unpleasant task. He had been prepared to do most of it himself, sparing Sam the guilt that would surely follow. But the young man didn't seem bothered in the least.

Sam didn't hang back or let the more experienced hunter take the lead; he simply secured the vampire forcefully, took a step back to dip a knife into one of the jars of dead man's blood, and sliced the vampire across the leg through his jeans. Only then did he remove the gag.

"Okay, now you know I mean business," Sam said, his words cold and threatening. He waited until the vampire stopped screaming before dipping the knife back in the jar and placing it against the vampire's cheek. "How do we find Diego?"

The vampire looked terrified already. "I don't know, I don't know," he gushed, throwing a pleading glance in Bobby's direction. Bobby swallowed, Sam's  
calculating and emotionless face bothering him far more than the screams of the vampire.

"Wrong answer," Sam snapped and pressed the blade into the vampire's skin, drawing blood and letting the dead man's blood soak into the wound. "How do we find Diego?"

"I swear, I don't know!" the vampire pleaded, gasping in pain. His fangs appeared when he cried out as the knife slashed a long, shallow gash across his face and he snarled up at his tormentor.

"What do you know?" Sam demanded.

"I don't know anything!" the vampire hissed, his eyes now narrow and glaring, showing the nature of the monster within. Sam sliced him again without even flinching.

"He's over two thousand years old!" the prisoner offered, sounding desperate, his words tumbling over one another. "I met him once about ten years ago. He's evil, like seriously evil, even on a vampire scale. That's all I know!"

"Not good enough," Sam shook his head, at least rewarding the vampire's efforts by refraining from cutting this time. "Diego has a friend of mine and I need to know where he's taken her," he explained.

The vampire looked genuinely disheartened. "How would I know?" he asked meekly, his face screwed up in pain from the poison seeping into in his open wounds. "Like I said, I met him once years ago."

Sam opened another gash in the vampire's thigh and placed the jar over it, letting drops of the dead man's blood drip slowly into it. The vampire threw his head back and howled blood-curling screams mixed with savage growls of rage and pain. Sam waited calmly until the noise subsided before he leaned over the vampire, his face hovering just inches away from the bound creature. "You'd better start being more helpful," he said as if scolding a child.

Bobby swallowed again, unable to tear his eyes from Sam at work much like he might feel compelled to stare at a gory accident on the highway. He knew Sam and Dean had captured and 'questioned' a few demons in the weeks before Dean's deal had been up in an effort to find out who held Dean's contract and then, once they knew it was Lilith, in an effort to find the bitch. Heck, he'd also been doing the same thing. But he didn't see how a few sessions of tossing Holy Water at a demon could possibly turn Sam into this. The kid seemed heartless, completely devoid of emotion. Either he was just a really good actor, or he had tapped into a dark side Bobby never would have imagined existed. Not in Sam. Sammy. The kid with the floppy bangs that used to bring wounded gophers back to Bobby's house to patch up. Growing up as he had, Sam had never been squeamish at the sight of blood but this was a whole new level of cold. What the Hell had the boy been up to during Dean's tour downstairs? How could someone change that much in four months?

But despite the horror and the bad feeling in his intuitive gut, Bobby had to admit that if the vampire knew anything, Sam would surely get the information out of him. Better him than Dean right now. So he didn't interfere. Sam had told him how much this girl meant to his brother and Bobby had heard the truth of those words in Dean's voice when the elder Winchester had called and asked him to come and help. It was clear the girl meant something to Sam also and neither of these boys deserved any more heartache than they had already been dealt. So for now, he would let this new Sam do what was necessary, though it broke his heart to watch it.

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Dean pulled out of the parking lot of the motel with a heavy heart, not liking the prospect of having to torture someone again, vampire or not. He would do what it took, however, to find Tasha, and would deal with the consequences later. He had barely reached the main road when he pulled his phone out and called Sam, suggesting he and Bobby head to the abandoned field they had noticed not far from the motel that seemed to have become a dumping ground for old cars and fridges. They shouldn't be bothered there and would be free to make all the noise they wanted. He told him he'd meet them there in a while and hung up.

He decided not to bother with the morgue because getting in and out of there with large quantities of dead man's blood would be tricky, especially since the Medical Examiner there had met him already as Agent Plant, the FBI guy whose partner had been sleeping with his girlfriend. Instead he headed towards Grime's Bar. Tasha's car was there and she was always very well stocked up on dead man's blood. He could also check on Roar and his crew while he was there, maybe give them a little push to try harder because Tasha's time was quickly running out.

The bar was quiet when he pulled up with just four bikes sitting outside, presumably the four belonging to Roar, Two-Bit, Shank, and Paul, the ones who had been unfortunate enough to have seen Dirt's phantom Ironhorse and be next on his hit list. They had been hiding out at the bar ever since their sightings, thinking they would be safe there. Dean knew better but didn't feel the need to tell them right now since he couldn't destroy Dirt until the bikers had found Tasha. Right now he needed the gang's help.

He walked over to the red Fiero, which was still parked where the brunette had left it almost a day ago. He dug around in his pocket for her keys and opened the trunk. The Fiero had its motor in the back so there was just a tiny trunk space behind the rear lights. He dug around but all he could find was her clothes duffel and a small shovel. He kept looking and saw a tiny cloth bag tucked away at each side of the trunk. Curious, he pulled one out and peeked inside to find it was a spirit-repulsion bag, most often used in ridding a house of a poltergeist. He re-placed it and went around to the front of the car.

Under the hood was the spare tire and some additional storage space. It was here that Dean found Tasha's weapons stash. She had shotguns, handguns, an assortment of knives, holy water, rosaries, charms, amulets and finally, two large cooler flasks of what he was sure was dead man's blood. He took them out and placed them on the ground before slamming the hood shut.

He stepped back and looked at the car. It was an '86 notchback, a small sports car from Pontiac that had seen a limited time on the assembly line but had somehow found a cult following of sorts in the years since it was discontinued. He had made fun of it, naturally, but when he'd taken a peek at the motor, he noticed it was an 8 cylinder and had to admit, if Tasha got a set of decent rims, a new paint job, and did a little fine-tuning to the motor, it wouldn't be a half bad ride. Well, for a chick anyway.

A new wave of worry for the missing girl struck him as he stood looking at her car. Without thinking, he opened the door and sank into the driver's seat, closing his eyes for a second as he took in the smell. It smelled like Tash. How the Hell a car could smell like a woman, he couldn't explain, but it did. He felt closer to her as he opened his eyes and looked around. This is where she had spent much of her time, this was her space, much like the Impala was Dean's.

She had a Devil's Trap drawn on the roof above the seats along with an assortment of South American anti-spirit symbols that he remembered her explaining to Sam one day back when they had all been traveling together. She had claimed they could physically hurt a spirit much like iron did. He noticed another two cloth bags on the dash, one tucked into each corner much like the ones in the trunk and couldn't help but smile when he realized she had her car ghost-proofed.

Tasha was a good hunter. He had always thought she was smart and capable enough for hunting. She was more cautious than he and Sam were but that was probably a good thing. She'd have to be more cautious, he supposed, because she was lighter and smaller than they were. Faster maybe, but weaker. It was harder for her to confront monsters with supernatural strength than it was for the large Winchester men with their superior size and strength. He felt nothing but pride and respect when he thought of her hunting ability. She had hunted alone since she was eighteen, for six years now. Dean had always had his father or Sam or both; he'd only ever done a few hunts by himself. He couldn't imagine being alone for six years.

His heart sank as he thought about it because now, if he didn't find her, she was going to die alone.

He reached over and opened the glove compartment. He found a large .45 that seemed way too big for a girl of her stature but chuckled, knowing she could pull it off. He flipped open the registry book and smiled at the car's Kentucky ownership papers. Natasha Dunn. She had been so proud to have a car almost-legally registered in her name. That little piece of normal. He still found himself amazed at how every hunter craved some part of 'normal, apple pie', even though most would deny it through the teeth. Since his return topside, even he'd been thinking about it more than he ever had before.

He was about to close the booklet when he noticed something else. The corners of a couple of small photos caught his eye and he pulled them out from behind the car's documents.

They were wallet size and printed on WalMart photo paper, the grainy quality indicating they were taken from a cell phone camera. The first was a close-up picture of him, leaning against what he thought must be the Impala, looking off into the distance. The corners were creased and the edges worn, making it clear she handled the photo often. He thought again of the cold words he had spoken to her last night and a lump of regret formed in his throat.

The second photo was of him and Sam. They were sitting on the hood of the Impala laughing and drinking beer, completely oblivious that their photo was being taken. He couldn't help but notice the deep laugh lines around his brother's mouth and the merry glint in his eyes. He hadn't seen those things since he got back.

God, he missed those things.

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Sam decided things weren't moving fast enough. It had been almost thirty minutes and they knew nothing of Diego that could possibly help Tasha. He was beginning to worry that the vampire really didn't know anything else. He asked Bobby if there were any syringes around, grinning devilishly at the vampire while he did so. Bobby nodded and, although Sam thought he detected a vague hint of disapproval in the older man's eyes, the mechanic moved to rummage through a couple of bags at the back of the van.

He ignored the look. Bobby didn't know Tasha; he didn't care for her like Sam and Dean did, so he couldn't understand just how much was at stake here. That and Bobby was a softie. He was all tough and mean on the outside, but Sam had known the man practically his whole life and knew that Bobby cared about everything very deeply and was practically a cuddly teddy bear under his greasy, gruff exterior.

Sam knew what he was doing. He and Ruby had tortured countless demons trying to find out where Lilith was and what her plans were. Ruby had coached him through the first couple of times, showing him how to use his powers to inflict pain before he exorcized the demons. He could still feel the thrum of the couple of mouthfuls of Ruby's blood that he had swallowed earlier, when Dean had gone to take a leak not long before Bobby had called to say he was in town.

There was a time when he would have felt sorry for the vamp chained to a chair in front of him. He once thought torturing something for any reason would make them as bad as the things they killed, that it was a tool used only by the sadistic and the evil. How naive he had once been.

He had given Lenore and her vegetarian-vampire pack a chance, had helped her get away from Gordon Walker because he believed that she could fight this terrible thing that was done to her, this beast she had lurking inside of her, but after what had happened a few days ago with the Rugaru, Sam worried that he had made the wrong decision. He'd been gullible and naïve. If Lenore finally gave in to the urges and killed someone, that would be on his head.

Bobby handed him the syringe and he dipped it into the jar of dead man's blood and pulled the plunger back slowly.

Can you fight your nature? Can you overcome a darkness inside? A physical evil running through your veins? Like the demon blood that ran through his. Sam had seen the way Dean had been looking at him since Cas had zapped the elder Winchester back in time and the Yellow-Eyed demon had described dripping demon blood into baby Sam's mouth. Dean had been treating him like he was the Rugaru, like he was on the verge of turning darkside. In fact, after catching him using his powers, it was almost as if Dean felt he had already turned darkside. Dean's hurtful words still rang through his mind.

' _Do you even know how far off the reservation you've gone? How far from normal? From human? If I didn't know you, I would want to hunt you.'_

He jabbed the head of the syringe deep into a gaping leg wound on the vampire and squeezed the plunger down hard, his lips pulling into a tight snarl as he felt the liquid shoot out. The confined space of the van filled with a deafening shriek and the tall hunter stood back, wincing with discomfort at the high volume.

Why couldn't his brother see he was saving people? Doing what he had to do to get rid of the demons without killing the meatsuit? Just like now. He was doing what he needed to do to save Tasha. He was doing this so his brother didn't have to.

He looked down at the vampire, whose head had slumped forward on his chest.

"Crap," was all Sam said as he grabbed the man by the hair and jerked his head upwards.

The prisoner's eyes were open, though barely. Sam smiled. "Thought we'd lost you there, Fang-boy," he jeered.

Less than two minutes later, Sam got something useful out of the vampire. The creature's shirt was cut to ribbons and pleading, whimpering sounds were escaping between his shallow, gaspy breaths. "Okay, okay," he whispered. "I only know one more thing and I'll tell you but you have to promise to let me go."

Sam let a drip swell slowly on the tip of his blade, watching with a blank expression as it reached its limit and broke free, dripping into the cut on the vampire's cheek. "Okay," he agreed nonchalantly.

"You promise?"

"Yup."

The vampire looked over to Bobby for assurance, who silently nodded his agreement to the terms.

"Okay" the vampire gave in wearily. "Diego's a vampire, but he's also a witch."

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Dean climbed out of the Fiero and closed the door quietly, his insides twisted in knots of increasing fear and worry. He put the flasks of dead man's blood in the Impala and went inside the bar to see Roar.

The room was filled with cigarette smoke and Dean waved his hand through the heavy air, figuring the three bikers in the room had to be chain smokers. The guy Dean thought was called Two-Bit was asleep on a bench in the far corner, the big guy Paul was sitting behind the bar concentrating on a notebook in his hands, and Roar was standing at a table, pouring over his map quadrants.

Dean was heartened to see they were at least still making an effort to find Tasha.

"Any luck?" he asked, nodding a greeting to Roar, who looked up when he walked in.

The stocky biker shook his head. "Nothin' yet."

Dean sighed, moving over to stand next to Roar and look down at the map. He knew he should get going but torturing the vampire could surely wait a few minutes. He was dreading having Bobby and Sam see him in action.

Roar pulled himself upright and folded his arms over his chest. "So," he asked cheerily, "Natasha, she your ol' lady?"

"Uh, no, actually," Dean admitted. "She, uh…she used to be."

Roar chuckled. "I get it. You fucked up."

 _Actually I died._   Dean didn't bother clarifying.

"Don't worry man," Roar said encouragingly. "I got almost fifty riders out there now. We'll find her."

"Yeah maybe," Dean sighed, trying not to get discouraged. "Question is – when? Every minute Diego's got his hands on her…"

The gang leader snorted. "I got the impression she was a tough one," he offered. "She'll hold out."

Dean just nodded, not so sure. Yes, Tasha was tough, but Dean knew more than anyone what being tortured was like, what it could do to a person and what it took from them. It made him sick to his stomach to think of her enduring even five minutes of that fear and pain and it had been over twenty hours now.

Roar was chuckling to himself as if at some private joke. "You know," he said finally, evidently deciding to share, "That chick had the nerve to pull a Glock on me in my own bar. With my men right outside the door."

Dean narrowed his eyes at the stocky man. "You must have done something to deserve it," he accused.

Roar laughed out loud this time and slapped Dean on the back. "Well, I did make a suggestion she _might_   have deemed a tad inappropriate," he admitted. "Still, that takes balls."

Dean allowed himself a huff of laughter at the thought; he could well imagine what the suggestion had been and could picture Tasha's pissed off reaction vividly.

"We'll find her," Roar repeated, sounding confident.

There was a long pause. Dean shuffled his feet, trying to force himself to get back in the car and go meet Sam and Bobby.

"So you and your brother and Natasha, you do this for a living?" Roar asked,  
looking genuinely curious. "Chase ghosts?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, pretty much. Been doin' it my whole life."

"The money good?"

The hunter couldn't help but let out a loud snort. "I don't think there's a hunter alive that does this for the money," he told the biker. "We don't get paid.  Most of the time people don't even know they've been saved."

Roar gave him an incredulous look. "What the fuck do you do it for then?"

Dean just shrugged. He didn't know the answer to that question. He used to know. He used to do it for his family, _as_ a family, to be with his family. He used to consider himself lucky that he got to save people and be a hero, even if he didn't get the credit. Hunting gave him purpose. When Sam left for Stanford and Dean's world splintered, it was hunting that kept him going. When their Dad had disappeared, it was hunting that brought the brothers back together.  But that was when things really started falling apart. His dad died. Sam died. He died. And it all had to do with the hunting life.

And now it looked like might be Tasha's turn to die.

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Dean made it to the field less than forty-five minutes after leaving Sam and Bobby at the motel and spotted Bobby's old van parked near the middle in between a couple of abandoned, derelict cars. He stopped the Impala at the edge of the field, not wanting to risk puncturing his tires and made his way to the van carrying the three flasks of dead man's blood. He could hear a man's screaming as he approached.

_What the hell? Did they start without him?_

He picked up the pace and yanked the back van door open. Bobby was standing at the back and almost tumbled out when the door swung out behind him, but Dean hardly noticed. His gaze had fallen on his little brother slowly dragging a blade across the vampire's collarbone.

"He must have some friends? Other vamps he hangs out with?" Sam was yelling at the screaming prisoner. "You gotta give us something!" He stopped and looked up when light flooded the van and Dean didn't miss the reproachful look Sam threw at Bobby when he noticed Dean standing there.

Dean swallowed. He took in the bloody mess the vampire was in and the thick but familiar stench of blood wafting out the van doors into the hot afternoon air.

_Jesus, did Sam do that?_

"You started without me?" he managed, trying to come to terms with the fact that his little Sammy seemed to be vying for the coveted position of Alistair's apprentice.

"Yeah, Bobby had some dead man's blood after all," Sam shrugged, reaching for a machete on the van floor. Before Dean could say 'boo', the younger Winchester swung the large blade in a sweeping sideways arc and separated the vampire's head from his body.

Dean just stood on the grass, the van door still held open in his hand and a horrified look on his face.

Sam noticed it and mistook it as Dean's suppressed memories of his suffering in Hell rearing their ugly heads. After all, Dean had never been squeamish. He ushered Bobby out of the van and jumped out himself, nudging Dean away from the door so he could slam it shut. He picked up two shovels that had been left on the grass for when their work was done and handed one to Dean.

"We weren't getting any more outta him," Sam assured his brother simply as he sliced the shovel into a soft-looking patch of dirt. "Let's get him buried."

Dean threw Bobby a glance, purposefully avoiding the younger Winchester's eyes, and noticed the grizzled older hunter actually seemed a bit pale. It was obvious who had done the interrogating. Where had this new side of Sam come from?

He knew the capacity to turn into a monster dwelt within himself; he had been one for ten years downstairs. Hell, with only a quick glimpse of the sliced-up vampire, he could see at least ten untouched spots that would have been more effective. He would have sliced between the fingers and toes, across the arches of the feet, crushed the knees, pushed spikes into the armpits…

Godamnit. _He_   had that potential, but not Sam. Please not Sam. Sam had always been so sensitive, so firm on that moral line and so against unnecessary violence. So compassionate and caring. Heck, the kid had quit hunting to be a civilian for years, had wanted nothing more than a house and a job and a wife, maybe even two point five kids. What had happened since then? What had happened in the four months Dean had been gone? He thought of the Yellow-Eyed demon's taunting words after he had made his crossroads deal.

_'How certain are you that what you brought back is one hundred percent pure Sam?'_

He dug his shovel into the dirt next to the small hole his brother had started. "You uh, you certainly went to town," he ground out.

Sam shrugged. "Had to Dean; he's our only lead."

"I know, but Jesus… I just wouldn't expect this of you." He regretted the words as soon as they were out. Just a couple of days ago Sam had chewed him out for being insensitive about Sam's whole demon-blood thing, for looking at him like he was about to 'go Vader'. He didn't have it in him to get into this debate again now.

"I did it for Tasha," Sam defended. "If we're gonna find her, we have to play hardball. You're not the only one worried about her, you know. I'm willing to do anything for her too."

"Or _to_   her, apparently," Dean mumbled, again regretting the comment as soon as he had made it. That was his hurt talking.  He had been prepared to torture the vampire for Tasha's sake also. He had been willing to cross that line. He couldn't really blame Sam; in fact, he should be grateful he'd been spared the dirty work.

Sam gave him his bitchface but didn't say anything.

"So, what did we find out?" Dean asked finally, changing the subject.

"That this Diego's a witch," Bobby informed him.

Dean looked up sharply. "A witch?"

"And a vamp," Bobby confirmed.

"That would maybe explain the Jedi powers," Dean said skeptically. "But where does Diego being a he-witch get us? How does this help us find him?"

Bobby shrugged. "That was pretty much all the intel the vamp had."

Sam kept shoveling and didn't look up. "There's one person who might know," he said quietly.

Dean practically growled. "You mean demon, Sam, not person. She's not human."

"No, but she was a witch, remember? Can't hurt if I just ask her."

Bobby watched the pair digging and shook his head, wondering why they just couldn't seem to see eye to eye on anything these days. It didn't take a genius to figure out they were talking about Ruby.

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	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I love BAMF Sam too :) Since this is season 4 now, when he first got seriously BAMF ;)  
> This entire story has been limited to Sam and Dean's POV so far but with Tasha out of the picture so long, I decided to give a brief glimpse into her mind so we can see where she is and what she's going through while the brothers keep searching. Hope you like the change of perspective.

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Tasha awoke suddenly, the swirling thoughts of Dean snatched from her mind as awareness hit her accompanied by a sharp jolt of pain. She jerked her arm in reflex and her eyes sprang open to find her left hand still shackled to the steel post near one end of the empty room. She let out a feeble groan, not looking forward to what consciousness would surely bring.

She had lost track of how long she had been here or how many times she had passed out. She had struggled and fought with every ounce of strength she could summon as it returned to her body after the blow to the head she had taken outside Roar's bar. Diego had dragged her into a brown car and drove with his left hand while his right was still fisted in her hair. When she discovered the lock on her door had been removed, she tried her best to crash the car, preferring to take her chances in a highway accident than alone with the monster that had haunted her every nightmare since she was a child. The vampire had managed to pull over without wrecking and had simply lunged across the bench seat at her, sinking his teeth into her neck, tearing at the flesh and sucking noisily until she had blacked out.

She had woken up here, shackled to the post in some small but expensive looking home dance studio. The room in front of her was empty with hardwood floors and a full wall of mirrors on the far side. The couple of bathroom breaks Diego had grudgingly granted her had been in a marble bathroom bigger than most of the motel rooms she frequented. Her boots and her jeans had been removed the first time she had passed out and during his first round of revenge, the vampire had ripped her shirt open to get better access to bare skin to bite. He had been hovering over her at the time, almost giddy with anticipation and she had thought from his lustful leering that he may have intentions other than torturing and killing her. Her empty threats not to even think about it were met with obvious disdain.

"Don't flatter yourself," he sneered. "I don't play with my food and I wouldn't foul myself with the likes of you. Your very existence offends me." He sniffed the air above her and wrinkled his nose. "The stench of your bloodline is repugnant." That was when he smiled at her, an alarmingly handsome smile for a monster. "Repugnant," he added, "but rich with the sweet taste of revenge." His eyes narrowed and his extra teeth popped out. "And soon to be extinct."

She remembered trying desperately not to cry out, not to give him the satisfaction, and managed to hold out for a while but in the end, the sound of her screams had filled the air for some time before the world had thankfully gone black again.

Diego had almost worked his way into a routine. He'd show up with a Coke and a couple of donuts and make her eat to replenish her strength, claiming he wanted to make sure she lasted long enough for him to have his fill of fun. While she ate, he'd taunt and monologue, telling her all the nasty and painful things he was about to do. Then he'd do exactly what he'd promised until she passed out again from pain and blood loss.

Much of her torture consisted of Diego gnashing his extra teeth into her skin somewhere tender and feeding on her but in between 'drinks' he got more creative. He found the irony of using her own knife against her extremely amusing and her cries of pain often rang out in harmony with his sinister laughter. He sliced and carved, all shallow cuts that she quickly realized were intended to inflict pain rather than kill. He would often choke her as he drank, releasing her throat just before she lost consciousness and cackling with glee as she sputtered and gasped to get her breath back.

She didn't know how she kept managing to wake up, how she was still alive, and couldn't help but think that had something to do with timing. She was a fighter and would have fought Diego with everything she had anyway, but her motivation to stay alive had been increased tenfold when the elder Winchester had walked into that motel room the very morning Diego had found her. She couldn't help but think if Diego had found her one day sooner her body and her will would have simply given up by now.

She pulled her head up weakly, scanning the room with unfocused eyes and almost whimpering with relief to find Diego wasn't there. It was pure agony to move but her determination eventually had her sitting up, leaning her back against the hard, silver steel of the post. She tugged fiercely at her shackled wrist, trying to force her hand through the iron opening but it was obvious it was a square peg and a very small, round hole. Without her jeans, she had no paperclip to pick the lock so … she winced in dread … she was going to have to make the square peg round.

As she pulled herself up onto her knees, her head spun with nausea and every inch of her body ached with fresh bruising and the stinging pain of a hundred oozing flesh wounds. The hardwood floor beneath her was slick and slippery with smears of her own blood.

She knew it must have been at least a couple of days since she had seen her worst nightmare appear out of the shadows outside Grime's Bar. Diego would no doubt soon tire of the sadistic pleasure he was getting out of her suffering and when he did, she was as good as dead.

She didn't want to die. She had just been given Dean back.

She had always known Diego would find her eventually. He had killed her Mom, her Dad, her Aunt – all the family she had ever known. Sure, she had dreamed of killing him first and being the one to end the family curse but deep down, it had always seemed just that – a dream. Living detached and alone and constantly looking over her shoulder was all she had really known, especially since her father had died ten years ago. She had almost accepted her inevitable fate until Dean had come along.

Dean. Just the thought of the well-muscled, green-eyed hunter gave her a boost of energy, the motivation she needed to make it to her feet. She had to get out of here. She finally had something to fight for other than simple survival.

With that thought she slammed her bare heel down as hard as she could on her cupped line of knuckles, biting her lip to stifle a scream of pain as she heard a couple of bones crack in her shackled hand.

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. That fucking hurt._

She focused her thoughts on Dean and away from the pain. His cocky attitude and tough-guy façade that hid the wealth of emotion and deep-feeling nature inside.

Her heel slammed down a second time, popping at least one finger out of its knuckle joint. She clenched her teeth and panted her way through the pain to keep from crying out.

 _Dean. Think of Dean_. His crass humor and near obsession with classic rock tunes that completely contradicted his secret fixation with Dr. Sexy and the Star Trek original series.

She placed her hand against the steel post and rammed her knee into it a couple of times with every ounce of energy she had. Tears welled in her bottom lids and a muffled whimper escaped her lips.

 _Dean_. His refusal to divulge a single feeling or sentiment then surprise her with a sudden rush of sharing as they lay together in bed or sat alone in the Impala. She remembered the honesty in his voice in those intimate moments and the vulnerability in the sentiments he shared.

Another few hits with her knee and this time she was rewarded with a series of cracks, though they were drowned out by her sharp cry of pain.

 _Come on, one more time._ She needed to completely crush the hand as the shackle was incredibly tight around the smallest part of her slim wrist. Her legs were wobbly and she doubted her aim so she tried crushing and grinding it on the floor under her knee.

_Oh God, that hurt._

Her strength finally gave out and she slumped to the floor with her back against the post, her face streaked with sweat and tears that were now trickling down and stinging the open wounds on her neck. Blackness threatened to take over.

 _Dean. Dean. Dean_. His track record of short-term relationships and one-night stands that completely belied his astounding capacity to love.

Like the way he loved Sam. Tasha had never known what it was like to have a sibling; a few short and guarded friendships with other foster care kids couldn't compare to what she had seen between Sam and Dean. That was what family was supposed to be, not some strangers taking you in until you proved to be more trouble than the extra paycheck was worth. She had been in awe of their bond long before she found out Dean had given his soul for his brother. That love and that loyalty, most of all, was why she had fallen for Dean harder than she had ever imagined possible.

She allowed herself a weak smile. Well, that and the sex.

She began to pull and squeeze and tug at her broken hand, unable to hold in her cries and heaving sobs as the bones in her hand popped and slipped over one another but still refused to fit through the shackle opening. The skin on her wrist and knuckles was bloody and raw and she wanted nothing more than to pass out but she knew she wouldn't have much time before the hand swelled from the abuse. Once that happened, there would be no chance of escape, even if Diego handed her a hammer to turn the bones to dust.

It didn't work. She screamed and wept and tugged frantically through the agony but her hand just wouldn't contort enough to give her freedom. The pain turned to desperation when she heard footsteps approaching the door and to anguish when it flew open with a heart stopping bang. Her tormentor stood silhouetted in the doorway for a long moment in silence before he started to laugh.

Her last hope of escape was crushed and her heart skipped a beat as she braced herself for another round of his wrath.

Diego sauntered over and deftly sidestepped her defiant attempt to kick his knee. He slammed his boot down on her shackled left wrist, twisting and stomping like he was grinding a cigarette butt into the dirt.

"Nice try bitch."

She struggled to stay lucid through the pain and the fear as Diego knelt down and pulled the limp hand to his lips. He smirked as he licked the blood oozing from her wrist almost gently. "Mmmmm, Senorita, you taste so sweet ..." his extra sharp teeth popped out and his eyes took on that terrifying, feral look again, "... and I'm famished."

She closed her eyes and braced herself, trying desperately to take her mind somewhere else.

Dean would find her. She had royally screwed up and made a mess of things between her and him, even made a mess of things between Sam and him, something she had _never_   wanted to do, but despite everything, she knew Dean would be looking for her. Despite everything, she believed Dean loved her.

Yes, Dean would find her. After all, he'd been handpicked by God to pretty much save the world. If anyone could find her, Dean could.

Dean would find her. _She just had to stay alive._

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Two days exactly. Dean looked down at his watch as it clicked over to six-thirty p.m. Tasha was running out of time. In fact, according to his wrist, her time had just run out. He slammed a fist against the Impala's steering wheel, cursing Diego, the useless bikers, his own incompetence, Cas for not showing up, Sam for not being Sam anymore, and lastly and most vehemently, his brother's slut demon girlfriend for not answering Sam's calls. Yes, he would even accept help from Ruby right now. If it helped find Tasha, he'd swallow his pride and deal with the repercussions later. But the bitch was MIA; perfect demon timing as usual.

He was headed towards Grime's Bar, prepared to put the pressure on Roar and his gang but he leaned sideways to get his hand in his jeans pocket and pull out his cell phone. Sam was out searching for the elusive Crown Vic in Bobby's van while the older hunter took a short nap back at the motel. Maybe his brother could try that summoning ritual again, the one he had used on Ruby in the days before Dean's deal was due. Demand some witch intel from the friggin' demon whore.

He was just about to hit the speed dial button when Smoke On the Water sounded into his palm, Deep Purple having circled its way back to be Dean's current choice of ringtone. He looked down to see Roar's name on the display.

'Dickhead better not be trying to squirm out of his deal,' he thought, worried that the bikers would stop searching now that the mission had hit its two-day deadline. He wasn't anywhere close to giving up yet.

"You got anything?" he barked into the phone in greeting.

" _Yeah_ ," Roar spat back, sounding out of breath. " _A fucking Ironhorse Legend with no fucking rider that's smashing my bar to bits!_ "

Dean could hear the unmistakable loud noise of a motorcycle engine revving in the background along with gunshots, glass smashing, and men shouting. "Use the salt rounds we gave you!" he shouted into the phone, pressing his foot on the gas pedal. "I'm two minutes away!"

He skidded into the bar parking lot a minute and a half later but all was quiet. The line of bikes out front was in tatters, the machines all toppled over in a mangled heap and clearly smashed and bent beyond drivability. The hunter parked at the far end of the mess and got out quickly, arming himself with a shotgun loaded with rock salt before climbing what was left of the front steps two at a time.

"Roar?" he called out as he stepped up to the threshold. The front door was hanging precariously from its top hinge and the two front windows were smashed to pieces.

Inside was worse. The tables were all flipped and smashed, pieces of chairs and broken beer bottles strewn about the room. The man Dean thought was called Two-Bit was lying sprawled in the middle of the floor, mangled and bloody with a dirty tire-print across his face. He wasn't moving.

Dean stepped over him and headed towards the room at the back. "Roar!" he called out again.

The door swung open and a banged up Roar stepped into the room warily, shotgun still held high.

"Dude, what happened?" Dean demanded, though the answer was obvious.

"We were just sitting in here, the four of us, and we heard this revving outside. Turns out it was Ol' Dirt, or at least his Legend, and next thing we knew it drove right through the front door." He nodded towards the body on the floor. "Took Two-Bit out just like that," he swished his hand quickly through the air. "The men and me, we started shootin' and it went back outside," he looked up, his face angry, "That's when I called you but next thing I know he's back inside traipsin' around the room here faster'n a five dollar hooker."

"And Paul and the other guy?" Dean asked, feeling the first twinges of guilt at putting off helping the bikers until they had found Tasha for him. He couldn't help but think she wouldn't have wanted their lives on her head.

"Shank's dead," Roar informed him, jerking his thumb towards the back room. "As for Paul, I dunno, he took off by foot," he tilted his head towards the back door. "I swung a tire iron at it a couple of times as it backed over Shank," he shrugged, "And it just sorta vanished into thin air."

Dean sighed, hoping the spirit hadn't gone after Paul, who would be on foot in the woods behind the bar. If it had, the big guy was basically screwed.

"I thought we were safe in here," Roar clenched his teeth before looking back at the hunter. "You're the expert," the biker said accusingly. "Is it coming back?"

Dean shrugged. "Vegas money says yes," he said honestly. "It probably got tired of waiting to catch you alone. Ghosts escalate in violence same as serial killers and any other wack-jobs," he admitted. "We need to get you out of here and onto hallowed ground, quick." He beckoned Roar to follow him outside to the Impala but they hadn't made it to the edge of the splintered porch before the ominous, throaty purr of a bike floated through the evening air.

"Oh shit! Move!" Dean commanded, leaping down onto the gravel with the big biker a mere step behind him. They raced around the slew of twisted metal that used to be four motorcycles and headed towards his Impala, Dean shouting to Roar behind him for directions to the closest church or graveyard as they ran.

Roar's answer was interrupted by a stream of curses from the biker, spit out in reaction to the appearance of a gleaming, rumbling, AI Legend in front of them. Despite the whole rider-less thing making it really friggin' creepy, it was an impressive looking machine, all glistening chrome and silver flames shooting up the side of the gas tank.

It appeared out of nowhere at the far end of the parking lot, roaring its way towards them only to come to a skidding halt in front of the Impala, effectively cutting off their escape. It didn't attack further but rather sat idling loudly in an almost mocking manner. Dean couldn't help but think it was toying with them as it almost seemed to be watching them, daring them to make a run for the classic car.

They weren't getting to the Impala; that much was obvious. He backed up slowly, glancing behind him to see Tasha's Fiero just twenty feet away. His hand moved to his pocket and he felt the jingle of her keys.

"The Fiero! Now!" he shouted, dashing backwards to take a sliding leap over the hood to get to the driver's door. He unlocked the passenger door from the inside and started the engine while Roar clambered in. Dean could see the ghostbike approaching fast and heading straight for Roar so he threw the stick into reverse, kicking up stones as the wheels spun in the gravel before the small car shot backwards, dodging the bike by mere inches. Dirt's bike turned quickly and was right on their tail as Dean raced out of the parking lot.

The bike was fast and, although Tasha's car had more guts than Dean had expected, it was immediately clear they weren't going to outrun the pursuing spirit. Just like ghosts in death had more strength than their human counterparts had in life, the bike seemed to have balance and power that belied the laws of physics. It rammed the back of the car repeatedly as Dean sped down the road trying desperately to keep the car on the pavement.

"We need to find hallowed ground. Where's the nearest church or graveyard?" he demanded of Roar for the second time as the car fishtailed to recover from a hard bump to its rear end.

Roar was twisted around in the small seat, staring out the back window with an angry scowl on his face as the bike surged forward for another bump. "'Bout five miles south," he shouted as the little car took another hit and Dean swerved again to straighten up. "Turn left at the stop sign!"

Dean did so but just as the car made the turn, the bike rushed forward, slamming hard into the side of the Fiero just behind the driver's door. The force of the impact propelled the small car into the air and it slammed down the hard pavement on Roar's side before landing on its roof in the middle of the intersection, skidding its way to the grassy shoulder of the road.

It all happened so fast it was over before Dean's mind had even registered they were in the air. Disoriented, the hunter tried to regain his bearings, ignoring the painful throbbing of the future bruises he could already feel pretty much all over his body. He was uncomfortably positioned upside down, his face and shoulder pressed against the Fiero's roof and his legs twisted and contorted above him. He could almost hear Sam's voice telling him he should have been wearing his seatbelt as he struggled to untangle his limbs while the car slowly stopped spinning.

"Roar?" he managed to croak as he made it to his hands and knees. He didn't look over to check on the biker, however, as his attention was drawn to the bright light heading towards him followed closely by the throaty rumbling of Dirt's bike. "Shit!" he cursed, realizing he wasn't going to make it out the door before the bike hit him head on.

"Move this way!" Roar shouted from behind him but Dean was already doing just that, shuffling clumsily backwards into the cramped space.

He glanced behind him to see Roar still wedged awkwardly and mostly upside down against the dented-in passenger door. A split second later he heard the crunch of metal as the bike struck the tiny car just three feet away from his face. He fell backwards against Roar, the awkward closeness not even registering as he braced for certain death.

But the bike didn't reach him. He saw it happen as if in slow motion. The front tire crashed through the driver's door window and the door crumpled in towards his face as the body of the bike followed. He braced for the impact but the only thing that struck him was the shattered glass of the window. A piercing shriek erupted into the night then the bike simply disintegrated into the air before the hunter as it passed into the confines of the car, leaving him breathless but alive.

It took a moment to register that he wasn't dead and the bike seemed to be gone.

"What the fuck just happened?" came a gruff voice from behind him, or maybe it was under him. "And get the hell off me!"

Dean gathered his wits and dragged himself off Roar, mumbling an apology as he did so. He squirmed his way out of the broken window below the smashed up door that was now hanging off its hinge, looking down the empty streets. There was no sign of the bike anywhere and the night was still, the only sound being the engine hum of the upside down car above him.

His relief only lasted a few seconds for the moment he got to his feet, he saw the flames dancing their way out of the engine and spreading quickly along lines of spilled fuel and engine oil. "Roar, you getting out man?" he asked urgently.

A loud, angry groan of pain and frustration was all he got for reply. He knelt quickly down on one knee to peer inside. "Car's on fire, dude," he said matter of factly. "Can you get out?"

Roar grimaced at him while trying to haul his leg around the stick shift. "My leg's broke," he choked out.

That was when Dean noticed the dark patch of blood on the biker's jean-clad thigh and the sharp piece of bone jutting out of a hole ripped in the fabric. He winced. "Eww. That's nasty."

He moved around to the passenger side of the car, stomping out one particular line of spreading flames as it headed along a stream of gas towards Roar's window. The door was upside down and dented but with a great deal of pushing and shoving, he managed to get it open and drag the cursing biker clear of the burning vehicle.

"Where'd Dirt go?" the biker asked warily, sitting in the middle of the road where Dean had dragged him.

The hunter just shrugged, heading back to the car to get some weaponry from the hood.

"Well what the Hell happened?" Roar pressed. "Is it gone for good?"

Dean struggled to open the upside down and dented hood, batting at runaway flames as he did so. "Tasha's got anti-spirit bags and symbols all around her car," he explained, thanking her silently. Her caution just saved his hide. "It protects the inside of the car. The spirit got wiped out when it came inside."

"I coulda sworn it screamed when it bit it," Roar said with a smug smile and got a chuckle in response from the hunter.

"Yep. Hurts them like a sonofabitch when spirits get in the mojo'd areas," Dean confirmed.

"So it's gone then? For good?"

Dean shook his head. "These symbols and even the repulsion bags can't actually destroy a spirit," he explained. "It'll be back."

He noticed Roar take in the flat, remote surroundings with a less-than-pleased look. The car had been their only cover and smoke and flames were now billowing out of the small passenger compartment. The Fiero's gas tank was near the center of the car, pretty much where the flames were concentrated, so getting back in it for cover was definitely not an option.

The hood finally dropped open. Dean raked through the things that fell out as well as what was left inside and grabbed another shotgun along with Tasha's weapons duffle, tossing them on the pavement next to the wounded man. He looked back at the car and realized Tasha's keys were still in the ignition. Her keychain had her parents' wedding bands on it and he knew how much they meant to her. Refusing to even consider the option of it not mattering because she was likely already dead, the stubborn hunter strode back over to the burning car and wriggled his way back in the window opening.

"Better hurry," Roar said simply from behind him. "Thing's gonna blow."

"Yeah, thanks for the update," the hunter snorted then gave a shout of triumph as his hand wrapped around the keys. He pulled them out and stuffed them into his pocket as he pushed himself clumsily back out.

"We're sitting ducks out here," Roar stated the obvious. "How long 'fore it gets back?"

"Could be five minutes, could be hours, or it could…" Dean was cut off by the deep rumble of the ghost bike in the distance.

"Or it could be now!" Roar griped, struggling to get to his feet. He had tied his bandana around his thigh just above where the bone was still protruding but the wound was still bleeding and looked incredibly painful. He also had a bloody arm and a deep cut on his forehead.

Dean dashed over to the biker, hauling him roughly up by the arm as he looked around and tried desperately to think of his next move.

"We'll never get to hallowed ground," Roar ground out through obvious intense pain. "Shit. Listen man, it ain't after you," he said to Dean, trying to free himself from the hunter's supporting arm. "Get the fuck out of here."

Dean just grinned at him, impressed and a bit surprised by the heroic gesture. "Not my style," he quipped, his cocky smile hiding the rising panic underneath. Sam was at the other end of the city and Bobby was at the motel with no vehicle. They were in this alone. How was he going to take on a giant super-powered ghost motorcycle with a shotgun and a few hunter's hand tools?

A single light appeared on the road a few hundred yards away, the chilling throbbing of the legend's engine surrounding it in a deadly cloak of noise.

Luckily, Dean was always his best when the pressure was on. He had amazed even himself at some of the ways he had managed to get him and Sam out of the worst kind of jams. An idea popped into his head and he allowed himself a curse at never having thought of it before before he sprang into action.

He pulled away from Roar, ignoring the grunt of pain the biker let out when he hit the ground hard at Dean's feet. "Stay there," the hunter ordered sharply before grabbing Tasha's duffle and hauling it open. He rummaged through for the rosary and the holy water, wishing he had a bag of salt also. He would have to make do.

He walked briskly around Roar, pouring holy water on the tarmac in a large circle about twenty feet wide, holding the rosary above it and chanting in Latin as he worked.

"What are you doing man?" Roar asked, just a hint of urgency showing in his tone.

"I'm making my own hallowed ground," Dean announced before going back to his Latin chanting.

"Don't you have to be a priest to bless something?" The biker sounded skeptical.

Dean grinned at him. "Call me Father Dean," he laughed. "Got myself ordained on line a few years back."

The bike was moving now, the rumble getting louder as the light got nearer. Dean moved faster, the Latin words tumbling over each other in his haste to get them out. He had never been very good at the Latin thing; that was Sam's gig. He finished the circle and grabbed the shotgun, planting himself between Roar and the oncoming bike in a defensive stance with the shotgun held high.

He could hear Roar trying to get to his feet behind him and barked an order to stay down without turning around. He heard the biker's disgruntled reply of "You should really get the Hell outta here, man! You don't need to be here!" but then the bike was there.

The headlight was blindingly bright as the bike reached the ring of holy water with a deafening roar of its engine. Dean stood still just three feet inside the circle, barely even flinching as the bike bore down on him. He held fast and never fired the gun but was blasted with a huge gust of wind when the dirt bike dispersed as it passed over the near invisible line of holy water. The hunter raised his arm to cover his face as the wind blast hit him but stood his ground.

And just like that the bike was gone, near silence once again filling the air. The flames engulfing the Fiero made loud spitting noises as they continued to dance around its angular lines. Dean let out a long exhale of relief, closing his eyes for a moment to compose himself before turning to check on Roar.

" _Now_   he's dead for good," he informed the injured man casually.

"Jesus!" the biker yelled followed by a hooting laugh. "Buddy, you've got balls of steel! Friggin' balls of steel, man!"

Dean allowed himself a smug grin.

"I can't believe I called you a pussy," Roar laughed cheerily.

"I think you said my car was a pussy ride," Dean corrected with mock sternness.

Roar laughed. He had somehow managed to make it to his feet again, although his leg was gruesome-looking and his head wound had streaked blood all down the side of his face. "Well, I take it back," he said sincerely, slapping Dean on the shoulder. "Your Impala's a nice fucking machine. And you definitely ain't no pussy."

"Tell me something," Dean grinned teasingly at the burly biker. "When the bike hit the circle, did I hear you scream?"

Roar took the jibe surprisingly calmly. "Nope," he denied without hesitation.

"I did. I think that was a scream."

"It was a shout," Roar insisted.

"Call it what you want," Dean teased. "T'was still a scream."

"Son, you repeat that and it'll be the last thing you ever do."

There was a sudden loud bang and a flash of light lit the intersection from the flames leaping into the air as the Fiero's gas tank exploded. Both men jumped but straightened up quickly, determined not to appear shaken.

Dean shook his head at the burning mess. "Tash is gonna be pissed," he said regretfully as he watched the flames completely destroy her little red sports car.

Roar snorted. "Over a Fiero?"

Dean couldn't help the heaviness that once again enveloped his heart at the mention of the brunette's name. He pulled his phone out and called Sam to ask him to come pick them up before the police showed up. Roar declined Dean's help and managed to make it to the edge of the road by himself, sinking down on his ass in the grass.

"Damnit, I wish I had thought to bring some beer," he griped.

Dean stood nearby, watching the flames destroy the car and remembering how proud she had been to have it almost-legally registered, something she had never had before. She would be disappointed if he found her. No, correction, _when_   he found her.

It must have been obvious what he was thinking because Roar spoke up.

"We'll keep looking for your woman, man," he assured Dean. "I'm good for my word."

Dean gave him a grateful but half-hearted smile. "Yeah, thanks."

"Ya know, if we actually find her, I'll hook her up good for ya," Roar offered. "Two-Bit had a '70 Challenger. Black, V8, juiced up real good. Legal too. Yours if you want it man. That'll get you back in your girl's pants."

Dean didn't bother explaining that Tasha hadn't left him and that _he_ was the reason they weren't together anymore. He couldn't help but smile at the thought of giving her a ride as sweet as the muscle car Roar was offering, though. He grinned down at the biker. "Can you paint it red?"

A look of alarm swept over the man's bloody face. "Now why in the Hell would anyone want to do that?"

The hunter chuckled and shrugged. "She's a chick, man," he said. "Who knows why they do anything."

Roar rolled his eyes but nodded in agreement. "Yeah, I'll paint it fucken red," he conceded.

Dean's heart lifted just a little at the optimistic thought. Now all he had to do was find her.

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	28. Chapter 28

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Sam made good time in picking Roar and Dean up despite stopping for an out-of-breath Paul who ran onto the road in front of him, flagging him down madly. Luckily, that particular stretch of road was very quiet, one of the reasons the gang had located their bar there, and no other cars came by with civilians that would surely have reported the burning Fiero.

Sam dropped Dean off at the bar and the Impala before taking Roar to the closest emergency room with Paul. Dean insisted they keep driving around looking for the brown Crown Vic until they found another lead on Diego and Sam didn't have the heart to point out that if the Crown Vic was still in the city, they would have found it by now. Hell, he didn't really want to admit it himself. Bobby had been left at the motel after supper to grab a couple of hours' sleep and promised he would then keep making calls to see if he could dig up anything on a vampire witch. So far, he had called just about everyone and had nothing to show for it.

Sam decided to try the south side of town again, in some of the slummier neighborhoods. Somehow he couldn't see a vamp hiding out in the swanky or even the middle class areas of the northern part of the city. He was just pulling off the East Jensen Bypass when his phone rang. He glanced at the display and snapped it open quickly when he recognized the number.

"Ruby!" he yelled into the phone. "Where have you been? Why don't you answer me when I call?"

" _Hello to you too, Sam_ ," was the snide reply. " _You told me to keep my distance 'coz your little squeeze was back in town, remember?_ "

"She's Dean's squeeze, not mine," he snapped impatiently.

_"It wasn't Dean doing the squeezing in Illinois now, was it?"_

"Ruby, shut up." Sam was in no mood for the demon's smart-ass attitude today. "Listen, I've been trying to get a hold of you for a reason. I questioned a vampire and he told us Diego was a witch as well as a vamp."

" _Diego? The one who's after Tasha?"_

"Yes. You know witches, have you ever heard of him?"

There was a long pause. " _He's a witch? A two-thousand year old witch?"_

"Yes."

 _"I wonder..."_ Another pause.

"What?" Sam pressed, his heart skipping a beat. Maybe Ruby knew something, _anything_ that could give them a solid lead so they could do something other than drive around looking for a friggin' brown car.

_"He's Spanish, right?"_

"Yes." Was she being deliberately exasperating? "What are you thinking? Do you know something?"

" _No. Well, maybe. It's just that there's this secretive religion based on ancient Spanish Black Magic."_

"And...?"

" _Well, I don't know much about it but the High-Priest is supposed to be like twenty-five hundred years old. He was known as Dago, which is the old form of Diego. The religion's based on the premise that drinking human blood along with some other hoodoo crap can give a person great power and eternal life."_

Sam let the information sink in. "Are you thinking Diego could be this high priest?"

 _"Fits the bill_."

"Drinking blood to gain eternal life...that's just vampirism. So his religion's a sham," Sam surmised. "He's a vampire pretending to be a high priest of a bogus religion."

 _"I_ _wouldn't jump to that conclusion so quick, Sam_ ," Ruby answered. " _His followers are human and they've been known to live for centuries. The magic's real. If it is him, I don't think it's common knowledge he's a vampire also. He could have all sorts of powers if he's been mixing his black magic with drinking human blood for twenty-five centuries."_ She paused again. " _There's a lot of power in blood, Sam. You of all people know that_."

Sam chose to ignore her last comment, not wanting to discuss his shameful secret but rather concentrate on this possible new lead to finding Tasha. "He seems to be able to throw people with his mind, like demons do," he told her, remembering the video footage of when Tasha was taken.

 _"Like I said, the magic's real,"_ Ruby replied. _"Some powerful shit. So what, now that Dean's back with Tasha you two decided to go after Diego?"_ she asked.

"I wish that was all that was going on," Sam said with a sigh, his voice softening and betraying his feelings of worry and fear of Tasha's fate. "Diego showed up and took her."

Another pause. _"When?"_ she asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

"Just over two days ago."

_"Oh. Uh, I hate to be the one to say it, but do you really think she's still..."_

"Alive?" Sam sighed again, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "You never know," he said quietly. "If we can find her soon..."

" _I'll dig up what I can_ ," Ruby said quickly. " _I swear, if he's in town, I'll do what I can to help find her."_

"Thanks Ruby." It was Sam's turn to pause. "Why?"

" _Why what?"_

"Why would you help us save Tasha?"

The demon's tone turned snippy. " _The real question is why am I still having to prove myself to you?"_ she barked. " _After all I've done for you why do you still constantly question my motives? I went to Hell for you. I betrayed Lilith for you. I'm wanted dead or alive and every demon on the planet wants to cash in on me. I've risked my neck for you over and over and still you doubt me."_

"I'm sorry," Sam apologized, almost convinced. "You're right," he said grudgingly. "I would be dead ten times over if it weren't for you."

" _Try and remember that, would ya?"_ Ruby said, clearly trying to sound lighthearted after her little rant. " _I'll do what I can to find Tasha,_ " she added solemnly. " _I actually liked the girl."_ She chuckled. " _Gave even you a run for your money in the kissing department."_

"Ruby!" Sam chided, not wanting to be reminded of that night in Illinois now that Dean was back and was angry and hurt about it.

" _Yeah yeah, I'll call you when I find something_."

With that she hung up. Sam dialed Dean's number as he turned the van around to head back to the motel. It wasn't much of a lead but it was something. Maybe Bobby could dig something up on this High Priest Dago, a.k.a. Diego.

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It was Sam who found her, tied up in some abandoned warehouse. Dean pulled up outside just as the younger Winchester was carrying her out of the building wrapped in a blanket. His heart leapt to see she was alive, awake even, and she had her arms wrapped around Sam's neck with her face buried in his chest.

Dean got out of the car, his heart now pounding with relief and excitement at seeing her safe after three days of searching. He could hear his brother speaking soothingly into her ear as the tall hunter placed her gently on the hood of the Impala a few yards away. Neither of them had noticed Dean yet as he walked towards them. Sam stood in front of Tash, performing the standard Winchester pat-down to check for injuries.

Only it wasn't the standard one. Dean froze when he noticed the fast hands running down the length of her arms to check for broken bones were actually slow and seemed to rub or caress more than pat. Sam certainly didn't rest his forehead against Dean's when he checked him out like he was doing with Tasha now.

"You're okay now, Tash," he heard Sam say softly into the brunette's ear. "I've got you. You're safe now."

"You saved me," she whispered back, her arms moving back up to his neck. "I knew you would." Sam's hands moved to cup her face and he leaned down, tilting his head and planting his lips on hers.

A mixture of anger, hurt, and even relief swept over the elder hunter as he watched, shocked into silence. He was angry his brother saw fit to take the one thing he had ever had to himself away from him. He was hurt they would both betray him like this and he was relieved he could stop feeling so unworthy of Tasha's love because it obviously wasn't his anymore anyway.

They were kissing passionately now and Sam's hands glided up her arms to slide the blanket off her shoulders. It dropped to the Impala's hood to reveal her naked body beneath it, arching longingly towards Sam who obliged by dipping his head down to take a nipple in his mouth while his hand caressed the other breast.

Dean just stood there. This was what he deserved. He should have expected this.

Her legs wrapped around Sam's hips, whose large hands moved to run the length of her thighs. Dean could hear her moan his brother's name and he tried to force himself to turn away and leave as he noticed her hands fumbling at Sam's belt buckle.

"I feel guilty about Dean," he heard Sam mumble between wet kisses to her neck.

"Mmm...he doesn't...want me..." she replied with heavy breaths of lust as she unzipped Sam's pants. "He...he can't even...tell me he loves me..."

"But I have demon blood in me," Sam rasped out, his fingers disappearing between her legs.

"Oh!" She arched her chest upwards and her head tipped back as her heels dug into the backs of Sam's thighs. "I don't care," she panted. "You're a good person, Sam. Unhhh... You're saving people. Dean tortured thousands of souls...Fuck! That feels so good! ... The angels never should have saved him, Sam. He didn't deserve to be saved. He's not the decent person he pretends to be."

"You're right," Sam agreed, pulling his fingers from her and shoving his jeans down to his thighs. "You could never love someone like that." With that he thrust his hips forward, sinking his full length into the naked girl on the hood, who screamed in pleasure at the move.

Dean closed his eyes, still unable to make himself move, but they shot open again when a familiar voice sounded next to him.

"He's right, you know," it said with sinister calmness. "She could never love someone like you."

Dean turned sideways and immediately reached for Ruby's knife at the small of his back at the sight of the demon standing next to him. "Alistair!" he hissed.

The demon, appearing in the true form that Dean had come to know in the pit complete with horns and leatherlike wrinkled skin, simply waved his hand and the knife flew out of Dean's hand.

He gave the hunter a disapproving cluck. "Hi Deano," he smirked. He looked over at Sam and Tasha, who were now rocking together with a fast and heavy rhythm, moaning and groaning with every powerful thrust of Sam's hips, Tasha's hands curled into fists in the blanket beneath her. Dean swallowed hard at the familiar sounds of her lovemaking. He had often wondered if he would get to hear those sounds again but had never thought it would be like this.

"Now that's a slap in the face," Alistair chuckled. "Want me to put them on the rack for you Deano?"

"No!" Dean yelled, a stab of fear bolting through him at the thought. "You can't be here!"

"Come on," Alistair coaxed in a sing song voice. "I'll let you have first go at them," he offered with a teasing smile.

"No!" Dean repeated, moving in between the demon and the oblivious pair still panting and moaning on the hood of the rocking Impala.

Alistair shook his head, his yellow eyes narrowing at his former pupil. "Two weeks back upstairs and you're already going soft," he chided. "I like you, Deano. I'm gonna do you a favor and kill the Jezebel and your traitorous little brother."

He waved his hand and Dean went flying sideways, slamming into the side of a parked car. The hunter staggered to his feet just as Alistair was raising his arms towards Sam and Tasha and the brunette's screams of pleasure turned into an ear-piercing scream of pain.

He awoke with a start, jerking his elbow and slamming it into the passenger door handle of the Impala as a hoarse cry of "Sam!" escaped his lips. He was breathing heavily and ran a hand down over his face as he sat up and looked around.

"Get it together, Dean," he hissed at himself under his breath. He was alone in the car and saw it was pulled over under a highway overpass. He must have fallen asleep while Sam was driving, he figured, feeling guilty for not holding out until they found Tasha. Granted, it was the first sleep he had succumbed to since the brunette went missing three days ago, but every second counted, especially this late in the game. Bobby's van was parked in front of the Impala and the older hunter stood by its side with Sam, the two in deep conversation with burgers held forgotten in their hands.

Dean pulled the handle and pushed the door open with a creak. He staggered stiffly out of the car, rotating his shoulders in an effort to loosen up as he made his way over to the others. Bobby and Sam stopped talking and Sam wordlessly handed him a burger. He nodded his thanks and ripped the silver paper open, taking a big bite.

As he ate, he noticed the silence of the other two and the studious looks they were giving him. He stopped chewing and gave them a questioning look. "Vhat?" he mumbled past the food in his mouth. "I got someving in my teeff?"

He knew right away from Sam's uncomfortable shuffle and the way Bobby averted his eyes that something was up.

"Uh…" Sam started, his voice taking on that 'sensitive Sammy' tone he used with grieving relatives on their hunts. "Dean, it's just that it's been three days now. I, uh, I hate to bring it up but…"

Dean didn't answer. He concentrated on chewing and swallowing the food in his mouth without gagging. He knew where this was going.

Sam took his silence as a cue to continue. "He only took two days with her aunt and her mom."

The crime scene photos from Tasha's aunt's murder flashed through Dean's mind - the blood and the endless mass of wounds covering the woman's body. "We keep looking," he said simply.

Sam wrinkled his nose in discomfort at having to push the issue. "We've got no more leads," he pointed out. "Bobby's tried everything on the Dago witch front and we've still got nothing. We're just driving around." He paused but kept going when he again got no response from his brother. "Us and almost fifty bikers. Three days now and nobody's found anything. If the Crown Vic was in Fresno, surely we would have seen it by now."

"We keep looking." Dean wasn't ready to give up.

"He probably left town right after he grabbed her," Sam pressed, seriously looking like he was almost ready to cry himself.

Dean tossed the uneaten half of his burger down the grassy banking, his stomach churning at Sam's words. "We keep looking." He couldn't think of anything else to say; his own brain was screaming that it was too late and Tasha was already dead but his gut was refusing to believe it.

"Look, Dean, I care about her too," Sam said, his voice softening. "I care about her a lot, but…"

"I'm well aware of that fact," Dean snapped, his unpleasant dream still fresh in his mind.

Sam sighed in frustration and threw his arms in the air. "That again?" he demanded. "You really want it to end with that? Dean, you gotta let that go."

"Let it go?" Dean fired back. "Oh you mean like our search, huh? Let's just give up. Forget and move on."

Sam didn't answer; he just took a deep breath and gritted his teeth. He didn't want to hurt Dean but at some point his brother was going to have to face the facts.

Bobby stood in silence looking back and forth between the brothers, his brow furrowed as he studied them.

"Okay, what's going on between you two?" he demanded finally.

Dean waved a dismissive hand in the air as he turned away from Sam to head towards the Impala's driver's door. "It's complicated," he grumbled.

The gruff mechanic let out a loud snort. "It ain't complicated," he said in his fatherly-scolding voice. He turned to face Dean. "Bottom line is … you were dead. Nobody betrayed nobody." He paused for effect and Dean was a little taken aback at the directness of the rebuke.

Did Bobby know what had happened? Dean had always known the older man was shrewd but had he really figured that out?

Bobby ignored the surprised look on both Winchesters' faces and kept talking. "Besides," he went on, still talking to Dean. "He's still your brother ain't he? That ain't never gonna change so you may as well get over it."

Dean started to argue back but was cut off before a single sound escaped his lips. "It was bound to happen sooner or later," the older man said with a shrug. "It was just a matter of time."

"What do you mean?" It was Sam who got the question out first.

"I mean you two numnuts huntin' together, travelin' together, livin' together. You don't leave no room for a female and one was sure to come round sooner or later that meant more to you than yesterday's breakfast. What did you think would happen?"

He looked back to Dean, his shoulders slumping a little and his voice softening. "Son, you were dead. You left _all_ of us in a bad way. Try not to be so damn righteous." He frowned at the elder Winchester who remained silent, leaning against the side of the Impala's hood. "Besides," Bobby added, turning towards his van. "I keep tellin' you boys, family ain't supposed to be easy. Obviously you both care about the gal so let's just keep lookin'."

With that he climbed into his van and drove off, leaving the brothers standing under the overpass in heavy silence. Dean was still leaning against the Impala, his eyes downcast while Sam shuffled on his feet in front of the car, hating the sight of his brother in pain.

It was Sam who swallowed and spoke first.

"Look, I'm really sorry about what happened between Tasha and me," he said honestly. "But I can only say it so many times."

Dean looked up at him, his green eyes tired and sad and laced with defeat. "I'm not even mad anymore," he said with a sigh. "It's just easier to be angry than... it's just easier, you know?"

His voice was thick and for the first time in three days, Sam heard no hint of determination in it. The defiance was gone and, he realized, the hope was gone.

"You know what the last thing I said to her was?" Dean asked quietly, eyes cast downward again. "I pretty much told her there was nothing between us."

Sam had learned to recognize the rare moments when Dean was being honest about his feelings and knew enough to try and stay silent to let his brother talk.

Dean did just that. "I had just seen you two practically pawing at each other at her car," he said bluntly though with no malice.

"Wait, what?" Sam couldn't help but interrupt, trying to think of when this had occurred. "You don't mean after she found out about Ruby?"

Dean just nodded, barely catching Sam's eye.

"Dean, do you want to know what that conversation was about?" Sam couldn't believe his brother had thought the worst. "She was telling me how much she loves you. She was pissed about Ruby, yes, but mostly because she was worried about you. Dude, you seriously thought I'd make a move on her after you were back? Give me some credit!" Sam couldn't help being a bit annoyed at this point, though he wasn't sure if it was at Dean's low opinion of Sam or that of himself. "She's in love with you, you jerk!"

Dean remained silent, his arms folded across his chest and his head down. When he did look up, Sam felt a renewed pang of sympathy when he noticed his brother's eyes were reddening and glistening with unshed tears. None fell, but his jaw was tight and his muscles strained to keep his composure.

"Fuck," Dean breathed as his eyes caught Sam's. "She can't be dead."

Sam shook his head, more pity swelling up inside him. "Maybe not," he said quickly. "We'll keep looking." He moved towards the passenger door. "She's tough, Dean. She'll hold on until we find her." He sounded more convincing than he felt but was rewarded by a nod of thanks from his brother, who climbed in behind the wheel.

As they pulled out onto the road in no particular direction, Dean glanced at his brother once again. "I can't _not_ keep looking," he admitted. "Not until I know…"

Sam acknowledged his brother's sentiment with a nod. "What about Cas?" he changed the subject. "No sign of him yet? I'm sure he could find her if he'd just show himself."

"No word," Dean shook his head. "The dick just shows up when _he_   needs something."

"Well," Sam defended, "He did show up when you needed him most." He wasn't the angel's biggest fan, but the guy _had_ brought Dean back to him and he _was_ an Angel of God, proof there was hope in stopping the Apocalypse after all. Somebody with some serious firepower on their side, for a change.

Dean shook his head. "Right now's when I need him the most," he mumbled quietly.

**/\\\/\\\/\\\\-/\\\/\\\/\\\\-/\\\/\\\/\\\\-/\\\/\\\/\\\\-/\\\/\\\/\\\**

It was a few hours later, just after dark, when Ruby called. Sam had returned to the motel with Bobby to focus on the research again, the pair of them reasoning that research stood a better chance than driving around looking for a dark-colored car after dark. Dean insisted on staying out on the streets and Roar, true to his word, had his bikers still searching the city.

Sam ignored the disapproving look Bobby gave him when he answered the phone with an eager "Ruby?"

_"Hi Sam. Listen, I know it's probably too late and I'm sorry but I got something for you."_

"What?" he demanded.

" _I tracked down a demon in nearby Hanford. He's a witch demon, trading souls for black magic._ "

"Like Tammy," Sam clarified. "The power to a coven of witches."

" _Yeah,_ " Ruby acknowledged. " _Only he's way older than her and a Hell of a lot more knowledgeable. So I asked him about this Dago. He didn't want to answer at first but I insisted…_ " she paused, clearly hoping for a comment from Sam. " _Okay, I tortured and killed him and got even more heat on my ass,_ " she reworded, stressing the implication that she had taken this risk for Sam.

Sam decided to play along, knowing he'd get the information out of the smart-ass demon more quickly if he acknowledged her sacrifice. "Thanks Ruby," he said. "I appreciate your help."

He could almost hear the smugness in her voice as she continued. " _Anything for you, Sam. Anyway, this demon knew of Dago and knew that he has two human followers in the area. Safe bet he's hiding out at one of their places. He only has a few hundred followers on the continent but they literally do anything and everything he asks of them."_

Sam's heart jumped in his chest. "Did you find out who they were?" he gushed.

" _Of course_ ," she practically purred into the phone. " _I got two names. Got a pen?"_

**/\\\/\\\/\\\\-/\\\/\\\/\\\\-/\\\/\\\/\\\\-/\\\/\\\/\\\\-/\\\/\\\/\\\**

Dean turned onto another street, still driving aimlessly around the city. Sam and Bobby had opted to try more research on the Dago witch theory from Ruby but Dean needed to be moving, needed to be _doing_   something, even though he knew deep down his search was probably futile at this point. He didn't know how long he would keep looking; he just knew he couldn't stop. Not yet. He knew with every passing hour the very slim chance Tasha was still alive grew even slimmer.

He was more scared now than he ever remembered being before. More so than when his own date with the Hellhounds had been looming over his head. He loved her. After forty years in Hell and after finding out she had slept with Sam, he still loved her every bit as much as he had when he had asked her to leave all those months ago.

Besides his fear, his guilt was eating him about how he had left things. She had loved him as much as he'd loved her. For the first time in his life, he believed that someone truly loved him and more so, loved him for all that he was. He knew Sam and his Dad loved him, but never quite as much as he had loved them. It had never been an even trade. Yellow-Eyes had hit the nail on the head when he had said they didn't need Dean like Dean needed them. He knew that was true, had always known it, but had accepted it, not feeling worthy of an equal love anyway.

But with Tasha it had been different. Somehow he had never doubted the depth or the authenticity of the feelings she had for him, even though she had never said the L word. Whether he believed he was worthy of it or not, he knew she had loved him. He knew he was the only one she loved. And that knowledge was tearing up his insides right now because the time she needed him the most, he was failing her.

Why was he still using present tense? He had already failed her.

His dark thoughts were interrupted by Deep Purple. He cleared his throat before answering Sam's call.

Thirty seconds later, he snapped his phone shut and skidded the Impala into a U-turn. Two names. Two addresses. He didn't care that the intel had come from that scheming bitch Ruby; it was the closest they had come to a real lead. He was in the south end of the city so he had been given the Huntington Avenue address to check out. He remembered the area, he had driven the entire city a dozen times over in the past three days. It was a rich neighborhood consisting mostly of old money, which made sense if the address belonged to a few-century-old black magic follower who had human blood flowing through their sick and twisted fountain of youth. Sam and Bobby were going to check out the address in the north end of town nearer the motel.

"Just call if it's the right place," Sam had warned into the phone. "Don't go in alone, Dean. Wait for backup."

He pulled in at the tree-lined curb just past the Dago-follower's house and grabbed a machete from the trunk before climbing over the six-foot high stone wall. He made his way stealthily towards the large house, though he knew if Diego was here then he'd smell the approaching hunter long before he saw him or heard him. He peered in the rectangular glass window of the triple car garage and gasped when he saw a brown Crown Vic sandwiched between a Porsche and an Audi.

He pulled out his phone and texted Sam, knowing it would just lead to an argument about waiting if he called him. **_Its here_** **_come quik_**   was all he typed before hitting send, picking the lock on the side door, and slipping inside.

The house was huge. He started with the main floor but found no traces of Tasha or anything out of the norm. He dared not call out to her in case Diego was in fact here. He figured the basement would be the next logical place to search since vampires seemed to like dark and cold environments, but that turned up empty as well. He made his way back to the ornate main hall and started up the huge curved staircase, machete still in hand.

It was at the very end of the hallway, through the last of the solid mahogany doors that he found her. The room was somewhat dimly lit and was empty with hardwood floors and a full wall of mirrors down one side. Tasha was sitting on the floor next to a steel post near the far side of the room, her knees curled up and her head buried between them. She wasn't moving.

"Tash!" he rasped, the fear of reaching her only to find her cold and lifeless gripping his heart with agonizing tightness. As he strode across the room towards her, he noticed her legs were bare and covered in bloody wounds, as were her bare arms. He sank to his knees at her side and reached for her shoulder.

"Tash?" His voice was gentle but pleading.

She jumped at his touch, pulling her arm away with a desperate sounding whimper of _"No. Please."_

"Tash, it's me," he gushed, relief spilling out of him and temporarily drowning out the pity and the anger. "It's Dean." He reached again for her shoulder and she turned her face upwards. "You're safe," he added, seeing momentary confusion and disbelief as she struggled to focus her brown eyes on his green ones.

"Dean?" she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. She turned to face him and her right hand slid around the back of his neck, pulling him closer towards her. He acquiesced and leaned down, allowing his own arms to pull her into a gentle hug, his heart thumping loudly in his chest.

"You found me," she whispered into his ear. "I knew you would."

"Of course," he told her, attempting a cocky grin as he pulled back enough to peer at her face. "This is me we're talking about."

"I'm sorry," she croaked, her hand still clasping his shirt collar. "About Sam. Dean, I'm so sorry."

He cut her off. "Hey, babe, not now. That's water under the bridge. None of that matters, okay?" He gave her a smile and kissed her forehead as he pulled away with a hard swallow. "Right now we've gotta get you out of here."

She nodded weakly. "It's Diego," she told him. "He got me."

"I know," Dean nodded, pulling her shoulders gently upwards. She hissed in pain and he felt her tense up. Straightening up to get a better look at her injuries in the dim light he noticed her left hand was still behind her and leaned over to see it was shackled to the steel post with a thick iron cuff and chain. He saw the state of the hand, scraped raw, bleeding, deformed and swollen to twice its size and he inhaled sharply in sympathy. It didn't take a genius to figure out she had done that herself trying to get it through the tight shackle. He reached in his waistband to find the paperclip he had stashed there in case of police entanglements but before he could pull it out, Tasha gasped and tensed, suddenly looking past him.

"Dean, behi…" was all he heard her say before something hit him hard and everything went black.

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	29. Chapter 29

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Ruby stood with her arms folded across her chest, her hip jutted out so far to one side that it wasn't necessary to see the dark scowl on her face to know she was angry. "What do you mean she's not dead yet?" she hissed to the attractive dark-haired man sprawled casually in a chair at the huge, ornate dining table. "You said you'd need two days. It's been over three!"

"She's the last one," Diego defended with a shrug. "I was savoring the victory. Besides," he grinned, "she just refuses to expire. Most simply don't wake up after so many feeds. She wants to live. They're so much tastier when they want to live."

The demon gritted her teeth. "You were supposed to be gone and the bitch was supposed to be dead by the time they found her," she seethed.

The vampire rolled his eyes. "Look, do you want me to kill the hunter or not?"

"No, goddamnit! He's Dean Winchester for fuck's sake."

"Okay, I may not be up to date on this little Apocalypse thing you demons got going but I thought you all hated the Winchesters."

"Not all of us," Ruby snapped. "Listen, genius. Angels just brought him back from Hell and nobody, not even us, knows why. You really want to be the one to kill him and have angels on your ass?"

Diego laughed. "You demons are such cowards." He stood up from the table and took a swig of the beer in front of him. "Just make up your mind already," he told her, sounding impatient. "Coz I got a real drink waiting for me upstairs."

Ruby pursed her lips, her eyes narrowing at the vampire. "I tell you what," she said tersely. "Right now you owe me for hand delivering your last revenge-kill. Hell, I practically gift-wrapped her with a freakin' bow on top."

"I thought me keeping our little deal quiet was the only fee," he snorted.

"That was for two days," she fired back, shaking her head. "You took three." A malicious smirk spread slowly across her face. "But it could work out for the best. Kill her right in front of him and we'll call it even."

"I can do that," he chuckled with obvious amusement. "You really do hate him, don't you?"

"You have no idea how much trouble that asshole has caused me," she seethed, starting towards the door. "Do it, but do it quick," she barked back over her shoulder before leaving the dining room and disappearing into thin air.

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Sam looked down at his phone when the text alert sounded. "Oh shit, Bobby, turn around."

"That Dean?" Bobby asked, already slowing the van to make a U-turn.

"Yeah. He says the Huntington Avenue address is it and if I know Dean…"

"He's already charging in," Bobby finished the sentence for him.

"Yeah," Sam groaned. "Or else he would have called instead of texting."

"You worried about this Diego still bein' there?"

"Honestly, I'm more worried about him _not_   still being there," Sam admitted, picturing Dean being alone when he found Tasha's bloody mess of a dead body. That blow might just push the elder Winchester past his already-precarious emotional threshold.

"Hmph," Bobby pursed his lips in apparent agreement. "Best hurry then."

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Dean tumbled back into consciousness suddenly, jerking his head up and blinking his eyes to clear his head and vision. As soon as he was fully alert, the memory of finding Tasha hurt but alive sprang to the forefront of his mind and he jumped to get up only to find his arms restrained. Assessing his situation quickly, he found he was sitting on the floor of the dance studio, his hands shackled together behind the steel post that was now digging into his back.

He ignored his throbbing headache and started tugging at the restraints, all the while looking around the room in desperate search of Tasha. He saw her still form slumped in the corner on the far side of the dimly lit room. "Tash!" he cried, unable to hide the panic from his voice and not caring who else might be around to hear him. "Tash!"

He saw her head move slightly and noticed her right arm was raised above her head and tied with rope to the handrail that ran the length of the mirror. Although she didn't answer him, at least she was still alive. He exhaled heavily with relief and returned his attention to freeing himself. He figured out quickly that he wasn't going to slip or break the shackles so he would have to pick the lock. The only trouble was that no matter how hard he tried, however much he twisted or stretched, he couldn't reach the emergency paperclip he kept stashed in the front waistband of his jeans.

"Tash?" he tried again, thinking she had a better chance of getting loose than he did if he could just wake her up. "Tash."

"The senorita's sleeping," came a mocking voice from the doorway just before the lights flickered on. Dean looked up, blinking in the sudden flood of light to see a dark-haired man enter the room. He recognized him instantly from the grainy video footage Roar had shown them. This was Diego, the bastard that had hunted and threatened Tasha since the day she was born and had clearly spent the last three days making her life a living Hell. Anger flooded through Dean and he curled his lip as he glared at the grinning man now walking towards him. Dean had never been driven by revenge but he wanted to kill this bastard as much as he had ever wanted to kill anything before, as much as he had wanted to kill Yellow Eyes. He reserved a special place inside for those that hurt or threatened the people he loved.

"Diego," he ground out through gritted teeth. "I'm gonna enjoy ripping your head off," he spat, ignoring the absurdity of the threat.

Diego just laughed. "You might find that hard to do shackled to that post like a chump," he replied cheerily before he looked over at Tasha. "I kept that shackle for sweet, little Natasha over there," he goaded, "But it seems she's on her last legs so she really doesn't need it anymore."

Dean wanted to lunge at the vampire and kill him with his bare hands and it took everything he had to keep his outward cool. Somehow he was going to have to talk their way out of this one.

Diego sighed, still looking over at Tasha. "You humans are so frail," he said, shaking his head. He leaned down and picked something off the floor. Dean recognized it as his own flask of holy water and, even though that seemed harmless, his heart rate accelerated with fear when the vampire headed over towards the brunette with it.

"Hey!" Dean called, trying to draw their captor's attention back to him. "You wanna see how tough us humans can be?" he challenged desperately. "Come pick on someone your own size!"

Diego ignored him and squatted down in front of the girl, who had her eyes closed and was breathing the deep, even breaths of unconsciousness. He untied Tasha's bound hand and dropped it in her lap almost gently before unscrewing the cap of Dean's flask.

The splashes of the cold water in her face woke her up instantly and she sputtered and flailed in reaction. Dean saw the fear register in her eyes the instant they fell on Diego, only to turn to shock when they moved past the vampire and found him. She must have realized she was no longer restrained for she scampered sideways along the wall and out of reach of the vampire. As she made it to her feet, however, her mistake became evident for her legs buckled and she had to grab the handrail for support.

Diego reached her before she had come even close to steadying herself and wrapped a strong hand around her throat, pushing her back against the mirror as he clucked his disapproval in a condescending tone. "Where do you think you're going?" he jeered, gesturing towards Dean. "Can't you see we've got company?"

"Let her go!" Dean yelled, unable to help himself. He was working his shackles for all he was worth but they were solid and they were tight. He pushed himself up the post trying to get to his feet but had only made it to his knees before Diego fisted a hand in Tasha's hair and yanked her roughly across the room towards him.

The vampire forced her down on her knees also, her face now just a foot away from the hunter's, close enough for him to feel her raspy breath but just out of his reach. Diego's hand was still twisted in her hair and he sank down to his own knees next to her, grinning widely at Dean, whose insides knotted with dread at the evil intent he could read in the vampire's dark eyes.

Tasha's gaze locked on Dean's and he tried to give her an encouraging look but failed miserably when he finally got his first good look at the state she was in. Her once-white shirt was mostly the red-brown color of dried blood and was torn open at the front, exposing her bra and underwear, both also stained with blood. Every part of her bare skin was covered in jagged, messy bite marks, most with streaks of dried blood running from them but some still moist and raw. Her stomach, her arms, her sides, her thighs, her legs, her hips, her neck; there was barely a three-inch square area left untouched. As if that wasn't bad enough, there were a hundred straight knife cuts in all the most painful places and dark bruises colored her stomach and sides. There were no bites on her face but Diego had not been so sparing with the knife. A deep slash had been carved into each cheek, ensuring that even if by some miracle she survived this, she would always have a constant, visible reminder of the ordeal.

The sheer number of wounds and the despairing look in her eyes caused Dean's mind to flash to the countless souls he had tortured in the pit. For a split second he was back there, wielding the knife himself as yet another mangled, bloody, nameless soul was placed before him.

But this wasn't some nameless soul most likely in the pit for bad deeds done; this was Tasha. And although the Dean down there, Alistair's pet, had enjoyed inflicting the torture, he wasn't that thing anymore. The moment he had been shoved back into his body and woken up gasping the stale air of his coffin, he had regained his soul. It was torn and twisted and broken, but it was somehow his again. Right and wrong had suddenly become distinct and clear once more. And this was more than just wrong – this was Tash, _his_ Tash.

"Let her go," he repeated firmly, fighting to control his emotions. "You've had your revenge."

Diego glared angrily at the hunter. "I'll have had my revenge when she's dead," he spat.

"You hate her family because her ancestor killed your girlfriend," Dean blurted, desperately trying to think of a way to deter the vampire because as much as he hated to admit it, he and Tasha were completely at his mercy. He needed to stall until Sam and Bobby got there. "You're angry because you were left behind and had to live on after she was killed," he continued, surprising himself by feeling a tiny sliver of understanding for the vampire's loss now that he could relate after living three days thinking Tasha might be dead. "You've killed her whole family. Don't you think a better revenge would be to let her live with that pain?"

Dean knew that would be the case for him. Meg had figured this out when she had tried to get him to kill Sam so that he would have to live with that loss rather than just killing him outright. Maybe he could convince Diego the same would hold for Tasha.

Tasha remained silent and still, her eyes fixed on Dean as he spoke. Diego shook her roughly. "I may have killed her family," he spat, looking back to Dean, "but it was more than my family that Montoya took from me. He took the woman I love; the one thing that meant more to me than life itself."

"And you killed him for it," Dean fired back. "Eye for an eye, you demented wackjob. Your revenge is over. You won already."

Diego's free fist shot out, striking the hunter on the jaw and drawing blood. "If I really wanted an eye for an eye," he said icily, "I'd kill the person she's in love with."

Dean heard Tasha's breath hitch and saw her eyes widen in fear.

Diego laughed. "Yes, I know who you are, _Dean_ _,_ " he said triumphantly. "Maybe I'll slit your throat right now."

"No!" Tasha cried, panic written all over her face. She started to struggle but couldn't break free from Diego's strong grip in her hair.

The vampire ignored her. "She calls out your name in her sleep," he jeered, still speaking to Dean. "Whispers it when I wake her up with a gentle touch." He demonstrated by running a finger down the side of Tasha's face. She jerked away from him with a disgusted look on her face.

Diego snickered and leaned in to take a deep sniff of her cheek before turning back to Dean. "It's kind of sad, you know," he said. "I've been hunting this Montoya bloodline for almost two centuries. She's the last one. I'm going to have to find a new hobby."

"Why don't you let her go and then you can get your jollies hunting her down all over again," Dean suggested angrily, yanking harshly at his restraints. It was killing him to be so helpless with Tasha so hurt and to be so close yet unable to touch her.

Their captor snorted. "I'm almost tempted to turn her into one of my kind," he said. "Then I could make her suffer for years and years before finally chopping her head off." He grinned down at Tasha. "What do you think, Natasha? Want to spend the next decade with me? A century maybe?"

"Fuck you," she said defiantly through clenched teeth.

"No," Diego's snide expression suddenly turned ominously dark. "Fuck you, sweetheart."

With that his extra row of sharp vampire teeth emerged and he grinned viciously at Dean before ducking down and sinking them into Tasha's neck. She gasped and a pained cry escaped her as she began to struggle but Diego held her easily with his superior strength, the hand in her hair tipping her head away and the other pulling her torso closer.

"No!" Dean yelled, fear and panic mixing with rage as he struggled to free himself in vain. He could hear the slurping sounds of Diego sucking and gulping not twelve inches away and could smell the all-too-familiar scent of fresh blood . "No! Let her go!"

Diego let out a muffled laugh, his teeth never relinquishing their hold on Tasha's torn skin and his throat still pulsing with every swallow.

"You bastard!" Dean screamed, only remembering one time when he had ever felt so helpless, and that was the moment Sam had died in his arms at Cold Oaks. "Stop! Diego! I'll fucking kill you!"

Tasha's struggling slowed and Dean feared she was getting too weak to put up a fight but when his eyes met hers, he saw a look of determination. She wagged an eyebrow as if to tell him something and he felt a light touch at his belt. He glanced surreptitiously downward to see her right hand reaching for him, her fingertips pulling at the waistline of his jeans.

She was going for his paperclip. Heartened by the sudden possibility of getting loose and encouraged by the fact that she was still lucid enough to even attempt the smart maneuver, he returned his attention to Diego. He needed to keep him distracted.

"I said let her go!" he yelled again, feeling the tips of her fingers sliding the paperclip free. "I'm gonna rip your head off!" he shouted. "You hear me? You'll be sorry you ever touched her! You sick motherfucker!"

She had the small piece of bent metal free and was reaching her right hand around to pass it to him. Dean twisted as far as he could without being obvious, trying to get his shackled hands around the post far enough to reach her hand. He knew he had to be quick for he could still hear Diego's greedy slurping which meant Tasha was losing blood quickly.

The vampire let his eyes drift back towards Dean, another gargled chuckle escaping his blood-smeared lips as he continued to drink. "You bastard!" Dean yelled to keep his attention but as Diego looked away, he tensed and suddenly stopped, pulling his mouth off Tasha's torn neck. His eyes narrowed as Tasha retracted her extended hand quickly but the faint, damning noise of a tiny piece of metal hitting the hardwood floor rang out as clear as church bells on a Sunday afternoon.

Diego lunged forward, snatching the dropped paperclip and lifting it to him for a closer inspection. An angry snarl escaped him and he glared at Tasha. "That's it!" he growled, "I've had enough of you. Playtime's over!"

He pushed her roughly to the floor, slamming her down on her back in front of a dismayed Dean. His strong hand hooked beneath her left knee and shoved her leg up and outwards, exposing her inner thigh to the vampire. "For my Eliza!" he cried before plunging his razor sharp row of fangs into the soft skin of her thigh, this time clearly aiming right for the femoral artery.

Tasha cried out once, struggling madly to sit up and thrashing at the vampire to pull him off but her effort was short-lived and she soon fell back to the ground, her hands feebly swatting at Diego's head between her thighs.

Dean was horrified and for the briefest of moments, was too panicked for speech. He finally found his voice and screamed at Diego to stop, realizing the sick bastard was no longer toying with his prey and meant to finally kill her. "No! No! Stop!" he yelled, his voice going hoarse as his rage turned to fear and desperation. "Tash? Stop! FUCK!"

Tasha was lying still now, her hands having dropped to the floor at her sides. Dean recognized the moment the fight left her and his heart twisted in an agonizing knot of dread. "No, no, no," he repeated, his voice coming out as not much more than a whisper.

She rolled her head towards him and her brown eyes locked on his. Another jolt of panic shot through him when he saw she wasn't giving him a look of fear or even one that begged for help, but rather one of apology and resignation. He knew in that instant she had accepted what was coming and merely wanted him to be the last thing she saw. Her hand scraped weakly across the floor towards his knee, her fingers uncurling just enough to graze his leg.

The last thing she touched...

"No, Tash," he pleaded, tugging at the shackles again so hard his hands were bloody and raw. Damnit, he needed to touch her, to hold her, to beg her to fight. He turned his attention back to Diego, his emotions well past the point of anger, and he began to beg. "Please, Diego, please. I'll do anything. Just don't..." The vampire ignored him, still sucking noisily as he fed from Tasha, draining the life from her as he did so.

Dean turned back to the brunette and their eyes met again. "Tash..." he rasped. "Oh God ... Tash." He knew this was it, just like he had known when Sam was about to die in his arms last year. "I love you," he blurted, saying the words out loud for the first time since his Mom had died.

_Let that be the last thing she heard._

Her eyes drifted closed and he could no longer make out the rise and fall of her chest. Diego finally sat up, her leg still draped over his knee and her blood dripping down his chin as he smirked at Dean.

"Dean!" came a familiar voice, shouted from downstairs but Dean barely heard it as he stared at the horrific scene in front of him.

 _Fuck,_ the hunter thought despondently, unable to care that the cavalry was here. _Why couldn't Sam have come two minutes sooner?_

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	30. Chapter 30

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Diego's head jerked up at the sound of Sam's voice. "Lemme guess," he said dryly. "The other brother."

His words didn't register in Dean's mind for the hunter was still staring at Tasha, desperate to find some sign she was still alive but seeing none. She was so still. The shock and horror were giving way to emptiness; a hollow, gutted feeling that was ripping him apart from the inside out.

Diego shoved the brunette's leg off him and stood up. Dean finally managed to tear his eyes off Tasha when his brother's voice sounded again, a lot closer this time. "Dean!"

"In here!" he answered, surprised at the strength in his own voice, a strength he didn't feel at the moment. He was rewarded with a sharp glare from Diego.

"I'd love to stay and kill both you and your brother," the vampire said icily, "but apparently you've got friends in high places." He pointed upwards at the word 'high'.  "So I think I'll just take my leave."

He started towards the exit but stopped short when the large bulk of Sam Winchester filled the doorway at the far end of the room.

"In here!" Sam yelled over his shoulder to someone behind him before taking a few steps into the room, machete held offensively in front of him. Dean was watching his brother's face when the younger man's eyes looked past Diego to find him and then fell on Tasha.

Sam's mouth dropped and he visibly paled at the sight of the girl lying bloodied and still on the floor. His eyes widened and he froze, shock and deep hurt painted across his expressive features. Bobby appeared next to him, also wielding a machete, and although his eyes scanned the entire scene too, he didn't falter; he simply lunged at Diego with the long curved blade held high.

Sam thought he was prepared, thought he had accepted that they would likely find Tasha dead, thought he was ready for it. But the sight of her lying there on the floor, half naked, unmoving, and covered in bloody wounds had torn savagely at his heart and knotted his insides past the point of being able to think, of being able to move. The crippling pain of loss, like that he had felt seeing Jessica burning on the ceiling, seized a hold of him. He became aware of Bobby beside him but it wasn't until the older man pushed past him and charged the dark-haired vampire that Sam snapped his attention back to the situation.

Diego. He turned to get a good look at the vampire. That was Diego. That bastard had killed Tasha. Shit, from what he could see, he'd killed Tasha right in front of Dean. The grief and pain that were spilling from his heart retracted, replaced instantly by a flood of anger. Rage, hatred, revenge. Sam had been living these things for months, years even because before Lilith there had been Yellow Eyes. His eyes narrowed, his fist clenched tightly around the handle of the machete, and he moved to follow Bobby.

Bobby, however, was suddenly flying backwards past him. Diego simply held his hand out, chanted some unrecognizable words, and the stocky junkyard owner tumbled backwards, clumsily rolling across the floor into the wall with a loud thud.

 _Shit_ , Sam thought. He'd forgotten the bastard was a witch as well. This could prove to be a difficult fight, he realized, but one he wasn't going to back down from. This asshole wasn't leaving this room alive. His two and a half thousand years were up.

He lunged forward as Bobby had done, aware of the vampire's outstretched hand now aimed at him. Diego muttered the same words he had at Bobby and Sam braced for the invisible force to hit him but nothing came. He wondered briefly if Diego hadn't thrown the mojo his way but the look of surprise and alarm on the vampire's face told him he had.

It didn't work on him. Just like Lilith's mojo. _He was immune!_

He gave the vampire a threatening smirk and charged forward again, machete sweeping down at him. Diego dodged the swing and tried the throwing spell again at Sam, still with no effect. He grimaced with obvious frustration but recovered quickly and instead of waiting for Sam to charge again, he lunged at the hunter, knocking the swinging machete out of the arc aimed at his neck and landing a hard punch to Sam's stomach.

Dean had seen Sam's eyes darken, his grief turn so quickly to anger, but it wasn't until Diego's second attempt at mojo-throwing his brother that he realized it wasn't working on Sam like it had worked on Bobby. He watched the vampire attack Sam and the two fell into a deadly, violent fight in the middle of the hardwood floored studio. He felt worry and fear for his brother but it seemed surreal, almost like it was happening somewhere else. His attention couldn't focus on anything past Tasha's still form lying a foot away from him. He was vaguely aware of a pulling at his shackles and didn't realize Bobby was behind him until he heard a gunshot ring out and his arms sprang free, ten inches of chain still hanging from one of his iron-clad wrists.

He practically fell forward, his hands reaching for Tasha, cupping her cheek and turning her face towards his. "Tash," he whispered, bending down over her as two fingers slipped down to her neck to search for a pulse. He didn't expect to find one. "Shit, No. No. I'm so sorry."

But there it was. It was faint but it was definitely a pulse. His hand slid down to rest over her heart and his own skipped a beat when he felt the faint double thump. "Oh God, you're alive," he rasped, completely unaware a tear had finally broken free and was making its way down his cheek. He pressed a quick kiss to her forehead. "Hang on babe," he breathed as he lowered her head back down to the floor.

And just like that he was back in hunter mode, his head snapping up to see Bobby running back towards the fight between Sam and Diego. Just as Sam took a hard hit and slammed backwards into the wall, the older hunter fired his gun at the vampire repeatedly, earning himself an angry sneer.

"Guns don't work on vampires, you fool," he spat.

"Well they don' exactly tickle when the bullets 'r coated in dead man's blood," Bobby shot back.

Diego just laughed, his eyes tracking Dean as the hunter stood up and stepped over Tasha. "I'm twenty-five hundred years old," he replied smugly. "Your hunter tricks don't work on the likes of me. I get my power from blood; a little coagulation isn't going to hurt me."

Dean picked up his machete that had been dumped with his jacket a few feet away from the post he had been shackled to and took an offensive stance next to Bobby.

"Three against one, asshole," Sam chimed in, pushing himself up stiffly from the wall. The three hunters fanned out, forming a half circle around Diego, blades in their hands.

It was disconcerting how unworried the vampire looked. "You're forgetting I can take two of you out without lifting a finger," he reminded them, waving his hand between Dean and Bobby. "Well," he corrected with a snicker. "Maybe one finger." He muttered the words again and the two of them tumbled backwards, both slamming hard into the floor. Dean rolled sideways to avoid hitting Tasha.

 _"I'm_   still here," Sam hissed, moving closer.

Diego smirked at him. "I think it's obvious whose going to win that fight."

It was true and Sam knew it. He had taken several hard hits and had yet to land one decent one on the much stronger, much faster opponent. Machete or no machete, he was outmatched. He didn't care. This bastard had killed Tasha.

"You're just one hunter," Diego continued. "I've just destroyed an entire bloodline of hunters," he gloated, tilting his head towards Tasha on the floor.

Dean was back on his feet, the throbbing shoulder from his latest tumble bristling his anger even further. "Guess what, _Senorita_ ," he spat. "You failed. She's still alive. So you're going down without ever finishing the job. The Montoyas win."

From the corner of his eye, Dean saw Sam's face when he announced Tasha was alive. He heard the gasp and saw his brother's scowl relax, the pure hatred dissipating slightly.

Diego, on the other hand, tensed, turning his head sharply to narrow his eyes at Dean. "She's still alive?" he seethed, clearly furious at the girl's apparent perseverance. "Fucking Montoya cockroach! Why the fuck can't she just die like a normal person!"

Dean lunged quickly, not wanting to give the vamp enough time to throw him again. He got in close, past the outstretched arm and rammed his machete upwards towards the exposed throat. Diego twisted away just in time and punched him hard. Dean reeled backwards but Bobby stepped in to take his place, managing to slice Diego across the shoulder before he, too was knocked backwards.

Sam moved in while the vampire was extended from his blow to Bobby, hacking away with the machete and slicing a few deep cuts in his arm and his side but they were all skillfully deflected from the only fatal spot, his neck. Diego eventually managed to knock the machete out of Sam's hands and struck him across the face with his uninjured arm.

Sam was slammed to the floor but as he struggled to get back up, Dean and Bobby were already advancing on the wounded vampire, coming at him from opposite directions in hopes he could only mojo one at a time.

The three hunters worked well together, anticipating each other's moves easily from years of fighting at each other's sides. Things weren't looking good for Diego and, by the furious but fearful look now displayed on his face, the vampire knew it. He spun towards Dean and threw his arms outwards, this time shouting the foreign spell words loudly. Dean braced for the invisible blow but it never came. He heard Sam shout "No!" and it took him a fraction of a second to realize his brother wasn't looking at him but at something behind him, eyes wide in horror.

Tasha. Tasha was behind him. He spun just in time to see her hit the mirrored wall, crashing through it and hammering through the drywall behind it six feet above the floor. It smashed into a thousand pieces and shards fell everywhere, dropping to the ground at the same time she did and bouncing all around her as they landed, a musical medley compared to the single, heavy thud she made.

"No Montoya will outlive me!" Diego yelled triumphantly.

Dean didn't hesitate or falter. He didn't wait to see if she was alright or if she was even still breathing. He simply turned back around and charged while the vamp was distracted. His crude blade swung fiercely in a smooth sideways arc and found purchase in the vampire's neck, slicing its way across the front about halfway deep.

Diego couldn't scream with his throat severed but a gargling sound escaped him as he fell to his knees. Dean brought his machete around and rammed it into the bleeding man's chest, pushing until the vampire toppled over and landed on his back on the floor. Dean didn't let go of the blade's handle; instead he gripped it with two hands and pushed it deeper until he felt the tip sink into the hardwood floor below.

"That's for Tash," he practically spat in the vampire's face, which was twisted with pain and fear. Dean yanked the blade back out and raised it over his head. "And this is for the rest of her family, you son of a bitch!" he proclaimed, swinging it downward on what was left of Diego's neck, watching as the head rolled away, eyes bulging open and leaving a trail of spurting blood as it went.

The room fell silent and Dean spared only the briefest of glances towards Bobby and Sam before racing back to Tasha, dropping his bloody blade and falling to his knees among the broken shards of glass. "Tash!" he called nervously, cursing himself for letting Diego know she was still alive. He scooped her head onto his lap and pressed his fingers to her neck, again feeling for a pulse. The move proved unnecessary, however, because she gave a light moan at his touch and her eyes fluttered open.

"Oh thank God," relief swept over him. "You're awake. Are you okay?"

She didn't answer, her eyes shifting in and out of focus as she struggled to look at him.

"Tash?" He lowered his head towards hers, pulling her closer as he did so. "You gotta tell me where it hurts, babe."

"Dean," was all she said, her voice barely more than a whisper accompanied by a faint wheeze from her throat. The word was followed by a shudder and a gargling, wet-sounding cough that spilled blood from her mouth.

"Oh shit," Dean cursed, his relief short-lived. He wiped the line of blood trickling down her chin away with his hand. "Tash?"

She had hit the wall hard with no raised arms or hands for defense; there was no end to the possible injuries she could have. Broken bones - ribs or even spine - or worse, internal injuries. This was way past him. He looked up, his desperate eyes searching out the older hunter with years of medical experience treating all manner of wounded hunters.

"Bobby," he rasped, his voice pleading. "I need your help."

Bobby was on his knees in a heartbeat, next to Dean and leaning over the girl. She was conscious, her soft eyes not even seeing him as she stared intently up at Dean. Bobby put his head down to her chest and listened for a moment while two oil-stained fingers pressed lightly in various spots around her chest and side. Finally he sat up, rocking back on his haunches.

"Call an ambulance," he said solemnly to Sam before looking back to Dean.

"She's gonna be okay, right Bobby?" Dean asked, needing reassurance from his old friend.

He didn't get it. "Hear that gurgling sound in her breathin'?" Bobby sighed. "That's blood seeping into her lungs. Pretty sure one's already collapsed. This is way beyond me." He held Dean's gaze. "She don't have long, Son."

Dean's instinct to argue was cut off by the sound of Sam on the phone, his brother's voice sounding strangely young and scared as it recited the address to the 9-1-1 operator. Instead of his planned rebuke, Dean simply tore his eyes away from Bobby and looked back down at the girl in his arms. "Hey, you hear that?" he said to her in an encouraging voice. "The ambulance is on its way; you'll be fine. You just gotta hang on a few more minutes 'till it gets here, 'kay?"

Bobby stood up and jerked his head at Sam, who was standing a few feet away with a bewildered, deer-in-the-headlights look on his face. "Get blankets," he demanded sharply. "Help me get this headless corpse in my van before the paramedics get here."

Sam looked at Bobby in silence for a second before the request registered, his mind spinning wildly with worry. Glad to have something he could be doing other than standing there gawking and feeling completely helpless, he nodded and followed the older hunter briskly out of the room.

Bobby moved fast for a guy with a stride almost half that of Sam's and he actually beat the younger man back to the room after the pair scoured two nearby bedrooms for blankets. They quickly wrapped Diego up and Sam tried to avoid looking at Dean and Tasha as he hoisted the body up on his shoulder. Dean still had her head in his lap and was speaking softly as he leaned over her and stroked the side of her face. Sam swallowed when he heard Dean beg her to hold on, his chest thumping with worry for both his brother and Tasha. Bobby picked up the blanket-wrapped vampire head as well as the various weapons and Dean's jacket from the floor and practically shoved the tall hunter out the door and down the stairs towards the van.

They unceremoniously dumped the dead vampire and his severed head in the back of the van and Sam slammed the doors shut. "Okay, you get the body outta here," he said to Bobby. "I'll stick with Dean, make sure the medics don't call the cops on him." He turned to go back inside but Bobby grabbed his sleeve, tugging at him from behind.

"Give it a few minutes," the older hunter said.

"What?"

"She's got blood in her lungs, Sam. She's bleeding internally."

"But the ambulance will be here soon," Sam replied, not understanding his friend's point.

"It won't be here soon enough," Bobby said with a shake of his head. "When I said she didn't have much time, I meant she had maybe a minute or two. The closest hospital is at best seven or eight minutes away at this time of day. She ain't gonna make it, Son."

Sam just stared at him, what he was saying sinking in slowly, his heart twisting in a knot as much for Dean as for Tasha.

"Let your brother say his goodbyes in peace," Bobby added softly, his face suddenly looking weary beyond its years.

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"Just a few minutes, babe," Dean said encouragingly, as much for his sake as hers. "You gotta hang on." Her head was nestled in his lap and his arms wrapped around her, holding her as close as he dared without shifting her torso and possibly worsening her internal wounds. He had heard Bobby's assessment but refused to believe she wouldn't make it. Tash had held out through three days of Diego's torture, surely she had a few more minutes in her.

She sucked in a raspy, hitched breath, wincing as she did so. Her hand moved to her chest and reached across for his. She let out a gargled moan of obvious pain and Dean's fear spiked. He clasped her hand and kissed her forehead again.

"Please, Tash," he begged. "Please hang on. I really can't do this without you. I need you, babe. You gotta hang on." It was the truth but his motivation for saying so was the knowledge that she would try with everything she had to do as he asked because it was him asking.

Her mouth moved but nothing but a faint gargle escaped. Her eyes were still locked on Dean's and he smiled down at her. "Don't try to talk," he told her, panic rising when her eyes closed. "Hey, stay awake, stay with me," he pleaded.

She managed to open them again but it was obvious it took a great effort. Her shallow breathing was growing shallower and more blood trickled from the corner of her mouth.

Bobby's words haunted him. _She don't have long, Son._ Where the fuck was that ambulance?

 _Hadn't he just gone through this ten minutes ago?_ he cursed. At least this time he could hold her, though he felt every bit as helpless as when he had been chained to the post. The situation was beginning to feel eerily familiar to Dean for another reason also, the memory of Sam dying at Cold Oaks flashing in his mind. How he had held his baby brother in his arms and felt the life slip out of him, his own will to live being all but extinguished with it.

"Stay with me, 'kay?" he repeated, his voice cracking. She gave him a slight nod, struggling to keep her eyes focused on him. "Diego's dead," he told her, hoping for a reaction but not getting one. "He's never gonna hurt you again."

She blinked slowly, her eyes still fixed on his.

"Oh, and I got you a new car," he rambled, needing to talk, to say anything to keep her attention and keep her awake. "It's sweet, babe; you're gonna love it. It's red, just the way you like." He smiled but his facade faltered when she closed her eyes again and a panicked sob escaped him. "Tash?"

Her light grip on his hand fell away. "Oh fuck…Tash? Please…"

He was so focused on the dying girl in his arms he didn't see the figure in the beige trench coat appear suddenly just five feet away. The man turned his head sharply sideways to look down at the pair on the floor before stepping swiftly over to them. He bent down and pressed two fingers to the girl's forehead.

Dean jumped at the arm that appeared in front of him, his head snapping up at the intrusion. "Cas!" he cried hoarsely, his voice almost failing him through the tidal wave of emotion he was feeling. "Cas," he repeated, unable to say anything else as his mind spun while he tried to absorb what was happening.

The angel touched Tasha's forehead for a few seconds before straightening up stiffly. Dean looked back down at her and saw the deep gashes on her cheeks were gone. His eyes roamed over her torso and down to her legs. The streaks of dried blood were still there but the bite marks and the cuts were all gone. She was breathing deeply and her eyes sprang open.

"Oh shit," he half laughed, half cried, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Cas, you healed her!" He caught Tasha's eyes, his hands now cupping her face. She looked bewildered and confused, gasping and gripping his arm tightly.

"Are you okay?" he gushed, trying to restrain himself from smothering her in kisses.

She glanced warily up at the man standing by Dean before nodding and attempting to sit up, fisting the front of Dean's shirt. "Dean?" she said simply, sounding unsure.

Dean pulled her upright quickly and drew her tightly to his chest, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face in her hair. She returned the hug with equal urgency, her breath hot on his neck and her fingers still wrapped tightly in his shirt. They stayed that way for a long moment, everything around them forgotten.

"I thought I'd lost you," he breathed, not loosening his hold on her.

"I think you almost did," she answered shakily, pulling back just enough to rest her forehead against his. "I... I don't understand. What's going on?"

Dean distanced himself enough to twist around on his knees and look up at the angel. "Cas?" he questioned, his arm still wrapped around Tasha. "I'm not complaining but... why'd you do that?"

The angel was still standing next to him looking slightly impatient. "I'll explain later," he said gravely. "You should go; there are others on the way."

"Cas?" Tasha repeated, staring up at the blue-eyed man in the trench coat. "The angel?"

"Yes," Cas answered seriously with a slight nod.

"Others?" Dean questioned, getting to his feet and helping Tasha up without once letting go of her. "Other angels?"

"No. Humans."

"Shit," realization hit Dean. "The ambulance."

"Yes," Cas said simply before disappearing in a blink.

"Whoa."

Dean couldn't help but smile at Tasha's awestruck expression as she stared at the empty space the angel had just occupied.

"Whoa?" he mimicked, grinning at her. "You get your first glimpse of one of God's heavenly creatures and you come out with whoa?"

 _"Fucking_   whoa," she said, giving him a slightly forced smile that made him suspect she was struggling to hold it together.

He pulled her into another hug, unable to helpimself. As much as he wanted to stay that way, however, he realized they had to leave now if they were to have any chance of dodging the paramedics. "We gotta get going," he told her, starting to pull away before it dawned on him she was standing barefoot in a sea of broken glass. He turned back quickly and scooped her up in his arms to carry her over the shards of broken mirror, almost reluctant to put her back down.

"Aww, aren't you chivalrous," she joked softly as he lowered her gently to the floor.

"Don't get used to it," he smirked, grabbing her hand briskly and moving towards the door.

He walked hurriedly, towing her behind him along the hallway and down the grand staircase. "Bobby and Sam will probably still be outside," he told her as they reached the main foyer.

"Bobby?" She stopped, tugging back at his arm. He turned to look at her, eyebrow raised in question.

She gave him a sheepish look, glancing down at herself. Her shirt barely reached the curve of her waist, not that it was covering much anyway since it was torn open. Her entire body was still streaked with dried blood. "I'm not decent," she said apologetically.

Dean rolled his eyes, his lips still curled up in a smile that felt glued to his face. He shrugged himself out of his outer shirt and handed it to her before reaching for the door. "I'll check it out," he told her, stepping outside as she slipped her slim arms into the oversized sleeves.

It was dark outside but Dean had to squint in the bright headlights of Bobby's van as soon as he stepped out the door. In his haste to get inside upon his arrival, the older hunter had apparently driven through the gate and pulled right up to the front of the house. Dean took a few steps across the stone patio looking for Bobby or Sam to warn them to get going before the paramedics showed. He practically ran into his brother, who was just coming around the van at the sound of the door opening.

Momentarily forgetting Sam didn't know Tasha was alive, Dean was surprised to see tears running freely down the young hunter's cheeks. "Dean," was all Sam said, his hazel eyes filled with grief and sympathy.

"Oh, shit, Sam," Dean blurted apologetically. "Dude, she's okay."

"What?"

Dean didn't need to repeat the words because Tasha appeared behind him, just finishing buttoning up Dean's shirt and quiet clearly alive and well. "Hey Sam," she grinned.

"Tasha!" the younger Winchester exclaimed, only staring wide-eyed for the briefest of instances before stepping past his brother and burying the slim brunette in a fierce sasquatch-sized bear hug.

Dean found himself smiling as he watched his brother and Tasha hug each other closely. Surprisingly, he felt no jealousy, no resentment, no anger. In fact, he was touched by the pair's obvious affection for each other. It felt clean and just seemed … appropriate. Their fondness just seemed like it should – it felt like family.

Bobby cleared his throat loudly, not-so-subtly reminding the hunters they needed to get going. Sam pulled away, his eyes drifting to Dean. "I don't get it," he stammered. "How?"

"Cas," Dean explained simply. "He just blipped in and healed her."

Bobby frowned, looking distrustful. "Thought you said the angels were dicks," he said.

Dean took a hold of Tasha's hand again, completely unaware of his own action. "Maybe not complete dicks," he shrugged.

The wail of sirens sounded from down the street, causing all four hunters to spring into action. "We'll take my car," Dean said quickly, pulling Tasha towards the side yard where he had parked the Impala car on the street. "Get going, quick!" he called back to Sam and Bobby.

His ushering for speed wasn't needed because Bobby was already running around the front of the van to get into the driver's door and Sam was heaving the passenger side open. By the time Dean and Tasha reached the far wall, Bobby's van was pulling out onto the road in the opposite direction of the ambulance.

Making quick work of scaling the wall, Dean and Tasha reached the Impala just as the ambulance pulled up to the house. The classic car roared to life and they drove away, melting into the traffic on the busy highway at the first exit out of the residential area.

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Tasha was quiet as they drove, curled up in the passenger seat and leaning against the side door. Dean couldn't stop stealing long looks in her direction as he maneuvered the busy city traffic and found her eyes fixed on him with every sideways glance.

"Whacha thinkin'?" he asked, still unable to wipe the smile off his face.

She grinned and pulled a classic Tash-deflection. "I was thinking you should wear just a t-shirt more often. Shows off those nice biceps of yours."

"And you should wear just my shirt more often," he teased back, raising a suggestive eyebrow at her.

She laughed out loud, ending with a snort at the outlandish flirt. Her hair was tangled and matted with blood and her skin was streaked and filthy but Dean couldn't help thinking she still looked beautiful. _Alive_   and beautiful.

They drove in silence another minute before she spoke again. "I can't believe he's dead," she said quietly, looking out her window at the night traffic. Dean didn't need to ask who she was talking about. "I mean, it's over. No more looking over my shoulder. I feel … I dunno what I feel. I guess it's still sinking in." She looked back at him. "How'd he die?"

"I chopped his head off," Dean told her matter-of-factly. "And don't worry, I told him it was for your family."

"My hero." The words were said sincerely. Dean didn't answer, the comment making him uncomfortable. A hero was something he certainly wasn't.

"I thought your life was supposed to flash before your eyes when you're about to die," she said after another pause. "That didn't happen."

Dean shook his head. "Didn't happen for me either," he admitted, surprising himself at how easily he was falling back into his old pattern of sharing things so easily with her. "I was just thinking ' _shit, that hurts_ ' and ' _damnit, I didn't want Sam to see this_ '."

She pushed herself off the passenger door and across the seat towards him, sidling herself up next to him and resting her head against his arm as he drove.

"So what was going through that beautiful head of yours then?" he urged, not minding the contact in the least.

"Hmph," she snorted softly at the compliment, smoothening down her matted hair with her hand. "Did anyone ever tell you that being dead for four months made you sweeter?"

Dean just leaned down and kissed the top of her head as he steered the car down the exit nearest the motel. She curled herself in even closer to his side in response.

"You wanna know what was going through my head right before…?" she answered finally, not finishing the sentence. "I was just thinking how glad I was that I got to see you one more time."

Dean swallowed, his head spinning suddenly with the emotional toll the last three days had taken on him; the horror of nearly losing her and the intense awareness he had of her closeness right now.

"Oh fuck this," he said, yanking the wheel and guiding the car quickly onto the shoulder of the road. He threw it in park and turned towards Tasha, cupping her face in his hands and pressing his lips to her forehead.

He could feel her trembling under his touch and her breathing grew heavier.  She pressed her hands over his and tilted her head upwards, grazing her lips against his.

"Are you okay?" he breathed into her mouth. 

She nodded and he could actually feel her steeling her nerves.

" _Really_   okay?"  Cas may have healed her physically but... she'd been through a lot.

"I am," she whispered.  "It's you." He felt her shoulders relax.  "I'm fine with you."

His intended words of assurance were cut off when she pressed her mouth against his, parting her lips and practically drawing his tongue inside. He couldn't help but react and return the kiss.  She let out a soft moan and leaned into him, her hands moving up to press against his chest. The kiss quickly became hungry and heated as his mouth devoured hers, his fingers twisting in her hair and her leg sliding up and over his knee.

It was just as he remembered it and it was overwhelming. She filled his every sense as his tongue danced with hers, those tiny, familiar whispers of moans begging him for more. It had been so long yet he suddenly felt as if he had never left, as if he hadn't spent decades away from her, screaming in the pits of Hell. As if he hadn't spent the last three days dying inside thinking he had lost her. 

His hands roved down to her waist and he pulled her onto his lap, his mouth never leaving hers. She tugged at his short spikes and ran her hands down around the back of his neck, her bare legs straddling his right jean-clad thigh.

A car's horn blared and a jeering shout sounded outside as a car sped past, some floppy-haired punk leaning out the passenger window. Dean reluctantly pulled back with a grin, breathing heavily as he brought his hands to Tasha's cheeks.

"Is it just me or do you taste like apple pie?" he laughed.

"Apple danish," she answered him with a smile, not in the least embarrassed at getting mocked by passers-by. "He kept feeding me Dunkin Donuts."

At the mention of the vampire and her recent ordeal, the smile faded from Dean's face and sighed as he rested his forehead against hers once more. He didn't want to push her. "We should get back to the motel," he said finally, his hands gliding down to rest on her waist again. "Sam and Bobby'll be getting worried."

She nodded, giving him a soft, lingering kiss on the mouth before sliding off him onto the seat next to him. He pulled back onto the road gently, the fingers of his right hand curling around those of her left in the small gap between them.

"So did I hear right?" she asked, giving him a quizzical look. "Did you say you got me a new car?"

A wide grin spread over Dean's face. "Yep," he nodded. "A 1970 Dodge Challenger. Roar's gonna paint it red for you."

"Roar? The biker?" Her eyes widened as a thought clearly struck her. "Did you get rid of the ghostbike?"

"Yeah," Dean nodded. "Dirt's toast."

Her eyes narrowed at Dean, though still filled with the sparkle of mirth. "Why would you get me a car? What's wrong with my Fiero? It's a decent ride."

"Uh…" Dean stammered, "about that … uh … Roar kinda trashed it."

"Trashed my car?"

"Trashed it and burned it," Dean nodded apologetically, deciding letting Roar take the blame couldn't do any harm. "And had to abandon it on the road so since you had it registered you're gonna have to ditch the Natasha Dunn name too." He gave her a sheepish look. "In Roar's defense, Dirt was chasing us with his T1000 Robobike."

She pulled her face into a puzzled frown as she looked at him. "So you and Roar were cruising around in my Fiero?" A giggle escaped her at the image and she squeezed his hand. "Did you two have the top down and Corey Hart cranked on the radio?"

Dean tolerated the teasing for the remainder of the short drive to the motel, enjoying the cheery tone of her voice and the warm feeling it was giving him. Bobby's van wasn't there yet, even though it had left the house before the Impala and it took Dean a moment to realize the mechanic and Sam had probably stopped off somewhere to bury the vampire's body.

As soon as they entered the room, Tasha announced she was taking a well-needed shower. Dean refrained from asking to come in with her, deciding she probably needed some time alone. He also knew what would happen if he joined her and as much as he wanted to, the thought made him surprisingly nervous.

She paused at the bathroom door and looked back at him. "Why did the angel heal me?" she asked quietly.

Dean shrugged. "I don't know," he admitted. "But next time I see him I might just hafta plant a big sloppy wet one on him for doing it."

His joking comment got the desired response for Tasha laughed a full, shoulder-shaking laugh that was music to the hunter's ears before continuing into the bathroom and closing the door with a soft click. Alone in the room, Dean exhaled loudly and rolled his stiff shoulders. Between the car accident with Roar, the fight with his men, and the fight with Diego, he was feeling sore everywhere.

"Nerdy son of a bitch could have healed me too," he griped before getting to work removing the remains of the shackles he still had on his wrists.

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	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cas may have saved Tasha but he's an angel, so there is a reason for it. Well, one reason is this story has a sequel (which I will also post here shortly), but his other reasons are given in this, the last chapter. Hope anyone who has read this has enjoyed the ride. Thanks CrazyLadyinVegas for your comments :)

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Tasha was in the shower for a long time. Dean had sprawled on the closest bed with a groan and was actually dozing off by the time he heard the bathroom door squeak open. He glanced over to see just her head peering out into the room.

"Tell me you got my bag out of my trunk before it went up in flames," she said, raising a hopeful eyebrow.

Dean winced. "I got your weapons duffel out," he offered sheepishly.

"Are you telling me I have no clothes … at all?"

Dean didn't see a problem with that. He grinned, getting off the bed and making his way over to her. She was standing behind the open door, her fingers curled around the edge as she used it as a shield, modestly keeping herself hidden behind it. He came up to the other side of the door, grinning cheekily as he stuck his head around to find she was wrapped in a towel.

Her hair was damp, her shoulders glistened, and Dean could feel the humid warmth from her skin on his cheek as he leaned over her. "You can borrow another one of my shirts," he joked, his voice sounding huskier than intended. He found himself unable to pull away from the door.

"You're going shopping for me tomorrow," she said with feigned sternness, stepping past him and out into the room, her hand clasping the knot in the towel at her chest. "At WalMart," she added, "Not the Salvation Army. You're buying me _new_ clothes." Dean laughed as he moved over to his duffel and rooted through it for a clean shirt. "You can even take Roar with you," she teased.

"Tell you what," he countered with a sly grin, his eyes roaming down the full length of her and back up. "I'll send Sam to the store and Roar can pick up the tab. I think I'd better stay here and make sure you don't get into any trouble - you know, make sure you're not damaging any of my shirts."

Just then the door opened and Sam walked in, followed closely by Bobby. Dean couldn't help but notice Tasha's cheeks flush and wasn't sure if it was from his flirting or the fact that she was now standing in a towel in a room full of men.

A huge smile spread across Sam's face when his eyes fell on her. "God, Tasha," he said to her with a shake of the head, very convincingly not seeming to notice she was only covered by a small piece of white cloth. "I still can't believe you're alive. I had pretty much given up on finding you."

"Tash, this is Bobby Singer," Dean introduced the bearded older hunter bringing up the rear since things at the house had been too rushed to be making introductions.

"Nice to see you again, Bobby," Tasha said politely, grasping the knot in her towel and shuffling her bare feet uncomfortably. Dean realized he had forgotten it had been Bobby who had directed Tasha to his grave in Illinois back in July so the two had already met.

"Nice to see you alive, darlin'," Bobby drawled, seemingly unfazed by her lack of clothes. "May be now we can all get some sleep." At that he turned back towards the door. "Well, the vampire's dead, the girl's rescued, and everyone's in one piece," he said, sounding tired. "I'm goin' to bed."

Sam grinned at his old friend's bluntness and looked back at Dean and Tasha, his smile disappearing when the awkwardness of the situation hit him. Bobby had claimed the second room that Sam had rented for Tasha just before she had disappeared and he and Dean had been sharing the other one as usual. Now Dean was standing by his duffel on the table and the brunette had made her way over to hover next to him. It didn't take a genius to see they had brushed aside the awkwardness between them from before Diego had entered the picture. Sam took in the looks Dean was giving the half-naked girl and felt his cheeks flushing.

"Uh, Bobby," he called, stopping the older man. "Think I could uh, bunk with you tonight?"

Bobby looked around the room and rolled his eyes. "Come on, y'idjit," he grumbled, disappearing outside. Sam threw a sheepish smile at the two in the room and followed him out, closing the door firmly behind him.

"Well, that was subtle," Dean chuckled, pulling his black t-shirt out of his bag and giving it an approving sniff.

"I'm not complaining," Tasha smiled up at him.

Dean's heart rate doubled when he caught the look she was giving him. "Uh, I found you a shirt," he said, holding the bunched up black material between them.

"You want me to put it on now?" she raised an eyebrow at him.

 _Shit, she was putting the ball completely in his court._ He took a deep breath.  He knew Tasha's way of dealing with hurt and emotional pain was to bury them and distract herself until she felt able to cope with them. He wasn't sure if that was what she was doing now - this wouldn't be the first time she had sex with him to keep her mind off something else. Last time he had just met her and had been more than willing to comply. But now...

"Tash, you've been through a lot. I... I don't want to rush things."

He couldn't help but notice her face fill with confusion.

"We're good," he added hurriedly.  "We are so good, me and you. I'm sorry it took almost losing you to make me stop acting like an ass but... After what you've been through, I, uh, I just want to be here for you. Whatever you need.  Whatever time you need... Or space..."

She grinned.  "I'm dealing, Dean.  I am.  But the last thing I need right now is space from you. You're not him."

Dean didn't need a name to know she was referring to Diego.  

"You died, I almost died," she continued, still holding the knot on her towel.  "I don't wanna waste another fucking minute not touching you."

He stood frozen for a few seconds, trying to gaugue her sincerity.  She seemed to legitimately be alright.  Her inner strength had amazed him more than once in the short time he had known her. 

She smiled at him, a demure yet entirely suggestive smile. "You gonna make me put the t-shirt on or what, hero?"

_Fuck it._

He tossed the shirt over his shoulder onto the floor and stepped right up to her, his hands going to her waist and his lips finding hers. "No," he breathed between a fervent series of kisses. "I'd just have to take it back off."

He wasn't meeting any resistance. Her hands released the towel knot and slid around the back of his neck. It didn't take more than two seconds for the towel to drop to the floor.

Dean let out a loud groan, pulling back for just a few seconds to soak up the view. God he'd missed that body. She was the last woman he had been with before his forty year stretch in Hell and was about to be the first since his return. As he stared at her now - her soft eyes, her smooth skin, her perky breasts, that curvy Spanish ass of hers - all those years in between started to melt away.

He closed the gap between them, drawing her in and kissing her hungrily as she tugged at the hem of his t-shirt. He grabbed it and yanked it off over his head, stepping back in to press up against her as his arms slid around to the small of her back. His breaths grew heavy when he felt the heat of her moist skin against his chest and he dipped his head down to nip and suck her neck, his hands once again moving to her waist. He walked her backwards towards the closest bed, not caring at all that it was Sam's. He kept pushing her gently even after the back of her knees hit the mattress, his mouth never leaving hers as he lowered her down.

His hands rubbed and caressed their way down to her breasts as her fingers reached for his belt buckle. She moaned loudly and arched her back off the bed when he took a nipple in his mouth.

"Oh God, Dean, that feels... that just feels... good, so good. Mmmm... I need this... don't stop."

He realized he needed this as much as she seemed to.  Physical pleasure and intimate touches after nothing but pain.

"Take them off," she panted finally, giving up her fumbling with his stubborn buckle. He felt her legs loosen from around his lowered hips so he could straighten up enough to remove his jeans. He grinned down at her sprawled form as he unbuttoned them but was surprised when her attention shifted and she squealed and wriggled away, turning on all fours.

He pushed his jeans and boxers down to his ankles and kicked them off, groaning at the sight of Tasha's ass waving in the air at him as she reached for something on the bedside table.

"Whacha doin'?" he asked curiously, climbing fully naked onto the bed on his knees. Surely she wasn't going to make him wear a condom? He hadn't been with anyone else and she couldn't have kids because of a hunting injury she suffered when she was nineteen. They hadn't used protection since their first week together.

He heard a few successive clinking sounds and the grin sprang back on his face when the bed started vibrating.

"Magic fingers," she smirked, turning around to face him with a suggestive wag of her eyebrows.

"See that right there is what makes you so perfect," he groaned, beckoning for her to come to him. They always had found an intense connection in bed together that seemed to melt away the world around them and tonight promised to be no exception.  

On her knees still three feet away, her eyes roamed hungrily down his torso, clearly noticing that he was standing at full attention. Her smile faded, however, as they drifted back up and she paused. "Your scars are gone," she breathed, sounding surprised. She ran her finger along the curve of her hip. "Mine are too," she informed him.

He glanced down to where he had noticed a new scar only three days ago peeking out of her jean waistline. It was gone. He reached out and traced his fingers gently down the side of her left breast where she used to have a long scar from a resilient Dharga, also gone.

"It was Cas," he told her, shuffling slowly forward and brushing her hair off her shoulder. He leaned forward and feathered a soft kiss on her silky smooth shoulder where she used to sport a small, puckered burn mark. "When he shoved me back in my meat suit, he musta stopped by Macco first coz all my old scars are gone."

Her lips ghosted over the handprint on his upper arm. "Is that when you got this?"

"Yeah." He brought his arms around her, not wanting to talk about Cas or Hell, and kissed her firmly. She pressed up against him, moaning softly when his hardness throbbed against her stomach.

"Lie down, babe," he whispered, again lowering her onto the still-vibrating bed. His mouth explored hers and his hands never stopped moving, touching every part of her he could reach and needing more with every passing second. Her hands seemed to be doing the same, as if both of them were trying to make up for every second they had been apart, every moment of lost intimacy and physical contact.

Eventually he moved his mouth downwards, leaving a trail of wet kisses and flicks of the tongue down her neck, circling around each breast as his hands glided down her thighs to her knees and gently pushed them farther apart. He kissed his way up her inner thigh, relishing in the sound of her moans but noticed the way she flinched when he passed over the last spot Diego had bitten her, when he had gone for the femoral artery.

He stopped instantly and raised his green eyes in worry to find her looking down at him.

"I'm fine, Dean, I'm fine," she assured him quickly.  "Keep going.  Remind me how good it can feel."

That much he could do.  He slowed the pace with his tongue, flicking and licking and kissing his way upwards.  

"Oh Dean," she moaned, the desperate aching tone in her voice making it clear she knew where he was headed. Her head tipped back, pressing into the pillow and her hands ran through the short spikes of his hair. She gasped and arched her back in the air when he breathed his hot breath on her opening, her hips quivering in anticipation. God, he loved the way she reacted to him.  He didn't keep her waiting long but gave her clit a teasing flick of his tongue before diving in and lapping at her gently, dancing his tongue in and out of her most sensitive spot.

Her breaths were heavy but her moans were soft as she bucked her hips ever so slowly into his mouth. Her hands left his head and stroked small circles up his arms to his hands, which were tenderly kneading her breasts, twisting and pinching her already hard nipples.

"Oh God, Dean," she murmured, much more quietly than she usually did, sounding more vulnerable than he remembered. "I've missed you," she told him, her eyes closed and her head still tipped back. "And I've missed this, ohhh..."

And with that her back arched upwards again, her fingers curling interlocking with his as he felt her tighten and pulsate around his tongue, a warm stream of wetness trickling down her thighs.

He took a moment to lick and suck at the juices before kissing his way back up her enticing body, feeling his restraint quickly leaving him as he did so. With the taste of her still pleasuring his taste buds, he reached her mouth and drove his tongue inside. She wrapped her legs around him and her arms clung to his back as she returned the kiss, which was growing more heated and more passionate with every passing second.

He was achingly hard and could feel her wetness sliding against his full length. His hips ground down on her and she cried out softly. "Mmm, I need you in me already," she moaned, pulling him towards her with her strong, hunter's legs. "Please." 

"Tash," he ground out, releasing one of her hands almost reluctantly as he needed a free hand to slide down between them and guide his way in.  He pushed into her slowly, reveling in the heights of pleasure he was feeling. He moved in and out again and again, feeling no urge to speed up and unable to remember anything so wonderful, so delightful, so sensual. After decades of pain and hatred and evil all around, the contrast was almost overwhelming. He fought to rein in a flood of emotions, surprising the Hell out of himself because it wasn't usually until _after_   sex that the needy, emo side of him emerged.

He started to pick up speed but almost immediately slowed again, craving the closeness he could savor more with a leisurely pace. He lowered himself back down to kiss her mouth once more, unable to keep his distance. She must have shared the sentiment, for she clung to him as her tongue drew his in, her chest rising to touch his with every long, passionate stroke of his pelvis. It was as if she was trying to get as much physical contact as she could, her palms rubbing needy circles on his back. He continued to thrust into her softly, lavishing her neck and shoulders with kisses before returning again to her mouth.

Finally, he sat up and, not wanting to lose any of the warmth of her touch, he pulled her up with him so she was straddling his lap as he knelt on the bed. They never stopped kissing in between their breathy panting and she gasped at his first thrust in the new position.

His hands moved to her hips and he began to pull her towards him with every forward buck of his hips, sinking himself deeper within her every time. His body responded to the intense heat and tightness of her and he could feel the warmth starting to pool in his abdomen.

"Oh God, you feel so good," he panted, as keenly aware of the truth behind his words as he was of her closeness in both body and mind. He had forgotten that anything could feel this good. A softness and warmth not just on the outside but spreading through his insides, relaxing the twisted knot in his heart as they rocked together and breathed soft moans into each other's mouths.

She moaned again in response and opened her eyes, gazing at him with a longing he knew had little to do with sex. Just inches apart, his eyes held her gaze as she swayed on him, moving back and forth as he slid in and out of her.

"I love you," she breathed, never taking her eyes off his.

The words hit him like a bolt of lightning. She had never said that before. In fact, he had never heard those words spoken to him before by anyone and been able to truly believe them, which he did now. He kept rolling her hips forward, never breaking their rhythm, but his mind was spinning trying to figure out how to respond.

He loved her too. He knew this without a doubt and quite suddenly he badly wanted her to know that. He hesitated for only a second before moving his lips to say it in return but her mouth devoured the words before they could come out as she kissed him hungrily. She eventually pulled away for air, her arms still wrapped around his neck, and she whispered in his ear. "It's okay. I heard you the first time."

She had heard him. He had said the words as she lay close to death and she had heard him. He felt a happiness inside he couldn't describe. Like a weight off his chest and a huge serving of hope in his glass at the same time. Tasha let out another moan and tipped her head back and he could tell she was getting as close to release as he was.

She rocked a couple more times then cried out, her fingernails digging into his shoulder blades and her body arching backwards, strong thighs squeezing his hips. Dean could feel the ripples of pleasure coursing through her and the small rush of hot wetness he felt as he pushed in one last time was enough to send him over the edge also. He pulled her firmly onto him and let go inside, holding her close as they panted and moaned in each other's ears.

They stayed like that a long time, clinging to each other in comfortable, satisfied silence, the only sound the dull buzzing of the still-vibrating bed. He finally lowered her to the mattress and kissed her softly. They relaxed into each other's arms, each tracing their fingers over some part of the other's torso. Propped up on her elbow next to him, she lightly touched the hand-shaped mark on his shoulder.

"Howcome I didn't get one of those when he healed me?" she asked, stealing another kiss as she spoke.

"Cas was in his angel form when he came to Hell to pull me out," Dean replied matter-of-factly. "I guess that's where he grabbed me; I don't really remember that part. It was human-Cas that healed you."

She chuckled, laying her head in the crook of his arm. "Human Cas was kinda cute."

Dean couldn't hold back his snort of disbelief. "Are you kidding me? He's a nerd."

"A nerd who saved both our lives."

"Yeah," he sighed, enjoying the feel of her finger running lazy circles over his shoulder, his side, and his hip. He swallowed at the mention of Hell, not wanting to let the memories interfere with this moment. She must have noticed for she looked up at him.

"It's all in the past, Dean," she said, using her wandering finger to gently turn his face so she could hold his gaze when she said it.

"I know but..." He stopped, not sure how much he wanted to spill just yet. "You know how I told you I don't remember anything?" he said slowly.

She nodded but remained silent.

"Well, I do." His voice wasn't much more than a whisper now. He couldn't believe he was saying this much but that closeness and that openness they had shared before he had died had just fallen back into place, maybe even stronger than before. But he wasn't ready to go any further. "I remember everything but I just can't talk about it yet," he admitted. "I just can't..."

She kissed him on the lips. "It's okay," she said simply. "You don't have to. When you're ready."

He didn't answer but simply lay his head down on the pillow, her head still cradled in the crook of his arm.

"Dean?" she said hesitantly.

"Mm hm?" he replied lazily, feeling suddenly drowsy with contentment.

"I'm gonna be blunt here, so don't get mad or all awkward, okay?"

 _Uh-oh. That didn't sound good_. "What?" he asked, tensing ever so slightly.

"Well, I've got to tell you something and I'm done tiptoeing around your insecurities and your need to protect anyone and everyone else but yourself. I want you to be honest with youself – do what _you_ want and not what you think is best for me."

"Okay..." he couldn't suppress a smile at her bossy tone.

"I want in. I want to hunt with you and travel with you and stop this apocalypse with you and … I just want to be with you. So I'm coming with you guys. And remember, if you say no, I apparently have a kick-ass car now so I can just follow you wherever you go. So don't even try telling me to go…"

Dean cut her off with a laugh, leaning down and kissing her hard. "I don't want you to go," he told her.

"What? Are you saying I can stay with you?"

"I'm saying you'd better."

For the first time in his life, Dean was putting himself out there. Letting himself love someone other than his family even knowing he was opening himself up to the risk of the pain of losing them. He had spent three days thinking he would never see Tasha again and now, holding her in his arms and feeling her heart thumping against his, after hearing her tell him she loved him, he didn't want to go without her anymore. Fuck it. They would figure this out. Maybe even stop the apocalypse after all. With Tasha, Bobby and Sam at his side, maybe he stood a fighting chance. Maybe he could make up for all he had done in Hell. Maybe he could be happy someday and they could all find some peace.

He tilted her head up to his, their faces hovering an inch apart as her brown eyes sparkled at him. Maybe his life didn't totally suck after all.

**/\\\/\\\/\\\\-/\\\/\\\/\\\\-/\\\/\\\/\\\\-/\\\/\\\/\\\\-/\\\/\\\/\\\**

**EPILOGUE**

Dean woke up in a hospital room. A typically bland and pastel room like so many he had been in before over the years. He tried to remember what had happened that he had ended up in here and had a vague notion of a werewolf hunt gone wrong but he was distracted by the sight that greeted him on the bedside table. There were six single-serving tubs of jelly stacked in a precarious-looking tower next to a plastic-wrapped spoon.

"Oh this is my lucky day," he grinned, grabbing the top one and ripping the lid off with his teeth before digging in. _Cherry, mmmmm_. He leaned back into his huge mound of soft pillows, crossed his booted feet and grabbed the remote to see if Dr. Sexy was on any of the three channels on the wall-mounted television. Dean was of the firm belief that besides phone numbers for hot nurses, jelly tubs were the only good thing that hospitals had to offer.

 _Ooh, speaking of hot nurses_! He leaned over and pressed the call button on the wall next to the bedside table three times, grinning in anticipation and hoping like Hell that Annie Wilkes didn't appear in the doorway.

He groaned when he saw Cas instead, appearing in the blink of an eye at the foot of his bed wearing his usual grave expression. Dean sighed loudly. "I'm dreaming, huh?"

Before the angel could answer, Tasha appeared in the doorway clad in the skimpiest nurse's outfit Dean had ever seen. A white skirt that barely covered the red thong showing through the thin material and about three too many buttons left unfastened at the top, not hiding much of her matching red lace bra. She gave Dean a confused look first, then Cas, then down at her own revealing state of dress.

"What's going on?"

"Nurse Natasha," Dean sang cheerfully from the bed. "I think it's time for my spongebath." He turned back to Cas. "Dude, you need to get out of my dream. This is the first good one I've had since I got back from Hell. Can we talk later?"

Cas turned his head to the brunette then back to Dean, his face never cracking a smile. "This is important," he said sternly. "I need to speak to you." He looked back to Tasha. "Both of you."

Creases of thought appeared in Dean's forehead. "If this is my dream then she's not really here … right?" he asked.

"You were both sleeping," Cas explained a bit impatiently. "I brought her into your dream so we could talk in private."

"You brought me in dressed like this?" Tasha gave the man in the trench coat a disapproving look as she moved over to stand next to Dean, who was now sitting on the edge of the bed with his legs hanging over the side.

Dean could have sworn he saw a flicker of embarrassment cross the angel's face but Cas answered her in an even voice.

"That was Dean's doing."

Dean grinned sheepishly when Tasha raised an eyebrow at him. "So this is what you dream about?" she accused teasingly. "This is your fantasy?"

He shrugged with exaggerated feigned innocence before turning back to Cas. "Thanks, dude. A little head's up would have been nice," he berated.

"Nurses huh?" Tasha's hand moved to rest on his jean-clad thigh. "I'll have to remember that."

"We have important things to discuss," Cas interrupted, shuffling uncomfortably.

"Well, I'll start by saying thank-you," Tasha said sincerely.

"I'll second that," Dean offered, giving Cas an appreciative nod as he pushed himself off the bed. "Maybe having an angel hanging around has its perks after all," he admitted grudgingly.

"I didn't heal Natasha as a favor to you," Cas said sternly.

"Why did you do it?" Tasha asked.

"The order came from above."

Dean knew he should be pleased that God had apparently decided to save Tasha's life but he couldn't help feeling trepidation and thinking there must be a catch.

"Natasha may have a role to play."

Dean's jaw tightened at the unwelcome revelation. "Come again?" His tone was vaguely threatening.

Cas narrowed his blue eyes at the hunter, a slight frown appearing on his face. Dean was reminded of the threat the angel had made about showing him respect because he could throw him back in the pit. He had to admit, for a nerdy guy, Castiel could be intimidating but right now, the worry that Tasha was going to be dragged into this apocalypse thing was trumping any fear he had of the angel.

Still speaking to Dean, Cas continued, his raspy voice deepening in a slightly ominous manner. "It has been written that if Lucifer is freed, Natasha may have a role to play in defeating him."

"I should have known you didn't do it out of the goodness of your heart," Dean ground out.

"What kind of role?" Tasha asked, sounding fascinated by the prospect.

"Doesn't matter 'cause you're not getting involved," Dean told her, his arm subconsciously lifting in front of the brunette as if to shield her from the angel.

"This is not her choice, Dean," Cas warned. "This is her fate."

"Would this be her 'fate' if she'd never met me?" Dean suddenly felt an all too familiar guilt creeping up on him.  "Did I drag her into this?"

"Dean, this isn't your fault," Tasha said quickly, pushing his arm down. "Remember Diego was after me long before you ever met me. He would have found me anyway and he would have killed me if it weren't for you and Cas here."

"Not necessarily," Cas said.

"Say what?" Dean gave him a suspicious look, acutely aware that the angel was confirming that he had brought this on Tash.

"We have learned that demons working under Lilith were searching for the vampire recently. It is likely they directed her to Natasha."

"Why?" Dean and Tasha asked in unison.

"Probably simply to antagonize or hurt you and Sam," Cas said simply. "We don't know."

"Well what _do_ you know?" Dean demanded, expressing his sudden guilt as anger and directing it at Cas. That epiphany he had just had lying with her in his arms about not wanting to be without her ever again suddenly turned around and punched him in the gut.   _This is what happens to people he cares about. This is what being around him brings to people._  

"I know only that she may have a role to play. My superiors only just became aware of her importance and I was ordered not to let her die at the hands of the vampire."

Dean took a deep breath to rein in his rising temper. "That's all you can tell us? You expect us to just believe that she ' _may someday somehow do something'_?" His sarcasm was anything but subtle but Cas remained silent, his shoulders stiffening slightly.

"What do you want me to do?" Tasha asked the angel and Dean knew she was embracing this new 'role' without the distrust he was harnessing.

Cas turned to address her directly, clearly choosing to ignore Dean and the hard, angry stare the hunter was aiming his way.

"First you must leave," he told her. "It is unsafe for you to be near the Winchesters."

Tasha's eyes widened and she shook her head vigorously. "Leave Dean? No way."

"Your role is still unclear but we think the demons are yet unaware of your importance as this revelation has just come to light," Cas explained. "Dean and Sam are well known by the demons. If you stay with them, it will be a matter of time before they figure out who you are and they will kill you."

He spoke so bluntly, so lacking in empathy, and to Dean that made his words even more terrifying. The part about demons killing her was bad enough, but Cas was also asking that she leave him, which meant he wouldn't be around to protect her if they tried.

"I'm not leaving Dean," she repeated showing no trace now of her previous eagerness to follow the angel's plan. She took a sideways step closer to the tall hunter as if to emphasize her point.

"She's safer if I'm there to look out for her, Cas," Dean argued. He couldn't explain to the angel that he was barely hanging on and he needed her around more than he needed air. Since his return from Hell almost three weeks ago, this night he had spent with her was the first time he had actually believed he may be okay, that he could possibly make it past all he had gone through and atone for all he had done. That he could help God and his angels stop the apocalypse. He needed her. "She's safer with me."

"No, she is not."

His directness hit Dean like a slap in the face and he found his resistance faltering. An uneasy silence blanketed the room for a short moment. "Will she be safe if I let her go?" Dean asked finally, his voice low and throaty. He already knew the answer was yes, no matter what the angel said next.

"I don't know," Cas answered, his shoulders relaxing in his first sign of genuine concern. "But if she stays with you now, she will die." He paused before adding a hesitant "I'm sorry."

Dean doubted the Soldier of God even knew what sorry meant. To the angels, humans were all just pawns. That's all he was and now Tasha was too. But at least she was alive and the memory of her dying in his arms a few hours ago was entirely too fresh for him to argue any further.

"Okay," he conceded.

"What? No!" Tasha cried, looking up at him sharply. "You just promised me..."

"You must have no contact," Cas continued, ignoring her outburst. "Lilith has every demon that follows her keeping their eyes out for you and your brother. One small mistake and you could lead them to Natasha."

Dean's heart twisted in anguish at the thought but he didn't argue.

"No way. I'm not leaving, never mind no contact." Tasha was not being so accepting.

Dean reached out and placed an appeasing hand on her arm but looked back to Cas when he spoke. "So if I help you stop the apocalypse," he said, wanting to get something straight, "Then Lucifer never rises and then Tash doesn't have this important role or whatever, right? Then she's safe?"

Cas nodded. "Then she will be of no importance to demons," he confirmed.

Dean turned back to the girl, whose face held more fear than anger or defiance.

"Tash," he began.

"Don't say it Dean," she cut him off. "I just got you back; I am _not_ leaving you."

"You'll die of you stay with me, babe." He hoped reason would work. He was wrong.

"I don't care," she exclaimed and he honestly believed her. "I'd rather be in danger with you or even dead than go without you, Dean." Her soft, brown eyes looked pleadingly into his green ones. "Not now, after everything. The way I feel…"

The three words she had so bravely spoken to him earlier rang in his ears, making his heart thump as quickly now as they had the first time. "It's just until we stop Lilith."

"I don't want to be alone again," she whispered, her hands moving up to rest on his chest.

He pulled her closer to him and held her gaze. "Do you remember how you felt when you found out I had died?" he asked her in a hushed voice.

She nodded and he saw a hard swallow move down her throat.

"Are you really gonna make me go through that?" he asked, knowing he was playing dirty but hey, desperate times and all... "I already went through it twice tonight – I don't want to do it again, for good this time."

He knew the moment she backed down for her eyes saddened and her hands fisted gently in his shirt. It only lasted a moment, however, before he saw her pull herself together and straighten her shoulders before turning to face the angel who was standing quietly at the foot of the bed.

"Why does everything have to have a price for you angels?" she demanded hotly. Castiel's eyes widened slightly in obvious surprise but he wasn't allowed to answer before she continued dressing him down. "You shouldn't have needed his help before you rescued him from Hell. You should have done it because he's a good person who didn't deserve to be there. Because it was the right thing to do and...and you're a freaking angel! Angels are supposed to do what's right, aren't they?"

Cas clearly recovered from his surprise for his eyes narrowed slightly at the girl who was practically yelling at him now. "I did not make the deal with a demon that put him in Hell," he pointed out. "And I did not set the vampire Dago upon you, yet I saved you both." His voice was deepening further and there was an unmistakable power behind it that Dean couldn't help but find intimidating. "You should be more appreciative and you should be honored to have been chosen by fate for the chance to fight with Heaven for all of humanity's sake," Cas finished.

Tasha clearly sensed the power and the threat behind the words for she backed down, leaning back ever so slightly into Dean's chest behind her. "Okay," she said finally, with more strength in her voice than Dean had expected. "Point taken. And I'll keep my distance from Sam and Dean but just so you know," she wagged a finger at Cas. "If anything happens to him or his brother on this mission of yours, I'm coming after you."

Dean couldn't help but laugh, both at her insolence and at the baffled look on the angel's face after being hit with such a preposterous and unsustainable threat. He spun her around to face him, an amused grin on his face. "Babe, please don't threaten the angels," he chuckled, bending down and giving her a hard kiss on the mouth to shut her up.

As usual, she instantly kissed him back and he felt the tension dissipating from her shoulders. After a long moment she pulled away and twisted her top half around to face Cas, her arms wrapped tightly around the green-eyed hunter. "Can I stay in his dream?" she asked Cas bluntly and Dean stifled a cough of disbelief.

Cas pulled his face into a slight frown, which was starting to become a familiar expression to the elder Winchester. "No,' he said, sounding uncomfortable. "It doesn't work that way. When I leave you shall both wake up."

She looked disappointed when she turned back to Dean and he smiled at her, planting another firm kiss on her lips and pulling her so close she could feel the effect she was having on him through the fabric of his jeans. "Don't worry, babe," he whispered. "We're together in the motel room, remember?"

Her lips curled upwards and her eyes sparked mischievously. "That's right," she cooed. "And we're naked." Again she turned her head to the angel. "Okay, don't get me wrong, it was nice to meet you," she smiled at him, "But I'm so ready to wake up now."

Castiel's body was stiff and his shoulders rigid and he looked like someone had just pushed that stick up his ass further in. He shuffled his feet slightly, a sign of his obvious discomfort. He looked to Dean and his frown deepened.

The hunter just grinned and shrugged at him. "Bye Cas," he smirked.

And in a blink he woke up, a naked Tasha pressed up against him as they were still entwined in each other's arms. She too was stirring, her eyelashes fluttering for a brief second before opening fully to allow her to meet his gaze. He could feel his naked body responding to the kiss they had shared in the dream and he ran his hand up the length of her shapely torso before sliding it behind her neck and pulling her head towards his.

"Well," he said in a husky voice as he moved his mouth to nibble on her earlobe. "If this is our last night together for a while, let's make the most of it." He rolled himself on top of her and smothered her delighted squeal with a hungry kiss.

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the end of this story. The next one (called Can't Catch Me Coz the Rabbit Done Died) picks up a year later, just after Sam lets Lucifer out. The main theme of the next story is Family rather than Romance, and is an AU version of Sam earning his redemption for his mistake and Dean... well, Dean gets a lot of crap thrown at him from start to finish, sorry (evil laugh). Together with Sam and Cas, he must fight to protect his family and those he loves.


End file.
